Ridi Pagliaccio
by whatsamatta
Summary: It was all rotting away, and they could do nothing. Nothing but watch it die and try to stay alive. It already started in the city; the rest of the world will go just as quickly.
1. The Mistake That Change The World

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Hey! Arnold, I'm bored, I need zombies. This is a filler while I pound out Apple Circus. And to those who read my crap and don't review, I give you this note:**_

_**~ Suck it ~**_

HA

His first mistake was that it was raining. The sound of angry water pounding against the metal of the car; the car which was the dual force of protection and destruction against the outside elements. Another large puddle of standing water on the road and he nearly lost control of the vehicle.

Or maybe the first mistake was that it was dark – well past midnight the stereo told him as Nocturnal Ned gave an introduction to yet another jazz song. The headlights were swallowed viciously by the darkness around them, and should a deer or young child suddenly appear, the consequences would be dire. Another set of beams crested the hill in front of them, bright golden eyes shining in the night, and he could feel himself press the gas, speeding up as the two high-velocity metal machines passed each other, inches from death.

Actually, his first mistake would probably be driving drunk, when he was supposed to be the designated driver. Yeah, that sounds about right.

1) Driving drunk.

2) In the rain.

3) After midnight.

It had started as a routine date, they had decided that staying home and snuggling was far too regular, and so hit up all the bars on the upper eastside of Hillwood City. Thanks to a losing streak in Roshambo, he was bestowed with the honorable and boring duty of DD, which he accepted obediently. Although not before questioning why he played that when she had no balls anyway. Well, that wasn't true, she had his – which she ferociously kicked in order to get drunk.

He had been doing so well, not drinking at all while she became more and more plastered on the different bar stools next to him; it wasn't until the last joint where his resolve failed in the saddest fashion to date, and he had a few drinks. Alright, honestly it was a few more than a few. And maybe a little more than that, too. Not nearly as far gone as the woman beside him, he was still coherent but definitely not driving worthy – but he was the designated driver, and he had the car keys, and he was cognitive enough to know he _could_ drive but not enough to know he _shouldn't_.

A soft, drunken sort of sleep giggle reminded him again of his passenger, and he turned to see his girlfriend burrow herself deeper into the seat, the seatbelt she should be wearing hanging limply at her side. Reaching out a sluggish hand, he began to stroke her face with a sort of drunken reverence, amazed that a guy like him and a girl like her could get together and work; _**really**_ work. She moaned, and he felt a contented and dare he say happy feeling bubbled inside him at the sound.

The compact car started to vibrate more than normal, and mistake number four became quickly apparent as he drove along the rumble strip. Fifty feet later, he lost control of the wheel, and the car swerved off the road, flipping once or twice for good measure before coming to a stop another thirty feet down a sloop at the base of a tree.

The world went dark after the first roll over.

When he came to, he found himself in their apartment, disoriented and disheveled. His clothes were torn and dirty, he was bloody, and apart from a few scattered memories of darkness and rain, he had no recollection of what happened over the course of the night. He turned on the local news channel as he prepared for a much desired shower, but only succeeded in getting halfway naked before the anchorwoman made an announcement that had him stop in his tracks.

Young blonde, found dead at the scene of a single car accident. Alcohol and speed on the rainy night were believed to be factors, if not the cause. The force of the collision with the tree, even after it had rolled, had been enough to jettison her from the vehicle. Hard to tell if anyone else was involved, but at this point authorities believe she was alone.

And then they said her name.

He had been broken in their apartment after the police had come to deliver the awful news, wandering around the small space seeing memories of her everywhere. In the kitchen as she threw together a dinner made from leftovers, in the utility hallway smirking as she caught him doing laundry, gloating over him and the boys because her team beat out theirs, laying naked, sweaty, and completely satisfied after a night of ridiculous sex, because she was always the kinky one.

And now she was gone. For good.

Although . . .

There was always that stuff his Aunt Helen was into, that weird voodoo black magic shit. She may have been crazy, but if it could bring her back to him, then maybe it was worth a shot, right? Helen was always a cool cat, and maybe she did have a touch of the dark side in her, for before he had a chance to hit her up on some advice, he found a package at the entrance to their apartment, elegant handwriting addressing it to him. And inside, a Complete Idiot's Starter Kit to Resurrection, and a complementary Voodoo 101 book, to which she signed in the same elegant script

_To My Darling Nephew,_

_Thought this might interest you, and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with the outcome (maybe it'll get you little shits to stop calling me crazy!)_

_Sorry about your girlfriend._

_Love, Your Aunt Helen_

Breaking into the morgue had been exceedingly simple – way easier than he had expected, and kind of had him worried about just where his tax dollars were going. A few hours later found him back in his kitchen, her sweet, beautiful, pale complexion a stark reminder of just how _**dead**_ she was. He stroked her frozen cheek once before beginning the long process of playing God, spending the rest of the afternoon and going late into the night making powders and chanting in foreign tongues. He wasn't even sure if it had worked by the time he black out sometime around four the next morning.

When his eyes opened, they landed on her still body. Had it worked? Please, please, please let her come back to him, he couldn't function without her. He needed her to simply live. Wait, had she been facing that direction when he passed out? And weren't her feet at the other end of the kitchen table?

"Angela . . .?" he dared to voice, praying to anything that called itself Devine that she would move.

Unfortunately for him, she did.

HA


	2. Holed Up

_**Disclaimer: Whoa, that was fast, right? This is where the story actually starts; that first chapter was more like a precursor to the almighty apocalyptic word I am about to unleash. Enjoy!**_

HA

The classroom was cold, and their rationed food which a small group had daringly gathered the other day was running low. It had been four days since the school went into lockdown, and no one had really stepped foot outside the room, save for the raiding party – let alone heard from their parents. A few were starting to lose control, hysteria seeping in as survival mode started to wear off.

A breeze made the room colder as it whispered past the table covering the hole in the window. Mr. Simmons had realized right away, after it was made known that this lockdown was more than just a drill and the attacks had started, that if they weren't allowed to leave the classroom they would need a place to dump their waste. The windows didn't open, so it was up to a few of the boys; using a chair they broke through the glass, letting in what they thought would be fresh air.

But with the circulation, came the sirens, the explosions, the screams, and the smell. Rotten flesh, like stepping into a meat locker that had lost power several days prior. Most of the girls threw up as soon as their nostrils were assaulted, and a few boys did too, finding a corner to retch out what little lay in their stomachs. Some started to cry, while others, most notably Curly, simply stopped talking. Helga watched all of this with growing detachment to the situation. Was she the only one still in survival mode? A quick glance at Mr. Simmons, and they shared a look while he tried to console Sheena.

Good, two still thinking straight.

Sheena gave another muffled sob as a rough banging on the door sounded, followed by groaning and clawing. Helga shot her friend a sympathetic look as the terrifying sounds increased. Sheena had this misfortune of being a raider, and while she had been fine-ish stalking down the blood soaked hallways, her resolve had broken when they stumbled upon her Aunt Shelley in the sick bay. Or, what was left of her Aunt Shelley . . .

_This is absurd_, Helga thought to herself as Arnold and Gerald shoved a few more desks against the door as the scratching intensified. She had been on that raiding party too, and had a rather clear idea of what was happening. All the doors that led to freedom had been locked with the foolish thought of making the old school building safer. The only ones who had keys were the janitors – who Helga had the misfortune of seeing come back to life after having their guts eaten out by _**who-knows-what**_before she viciously beat them into what was formerly her office with a broom handle – and Principle Warts, who no one had seen nor heard since this whole thing started.

"I think they might be crazies. You know, whack jobs that broke out of that joint upstate." She heard Sid explain to Stinky, and bit her lip while nearly smacking her forehead. Although really, how were they to know any better? She had yet to tell anyone about what she saw, both with the janitors and then what she heard moaning and shuffling around her, always just out of sight . . .

To think, she used to be jealous of Ruth McDougal.

"Mr. Simmons." Her own voice startled her, so it was no great surprise when the balding teacher jumped when she touched his shoulder. Nodding towards a corner of the room that no one was currently occupying, she made it perfectly clear she wanted to speak with him alone. He also nodded, before handing Sheena off to Phoebe, who also did her best to console the poor girl.

"Ok Simmons, here's the deal. We need to do our best to barricade the door, nothing goes out, nothing comes in. That's what has to happen first, if we want to have any shot at surviving." He sent her an odd sort of look, but nodded without a word.

"Next, we should probably ration out food; although what we have can't possibly last any longer than a week.

"Finally, we turn almost everything in here into a weapon. Something blunt, quick, easy to maneuver. Poles and staffs would probably be best, although what I would really have liked is long range weapons. Guns, although seeing as this is a public school, sling shots will have to work." She seemed to be talking more to herself now than him, but he was stilled amazed at what she was thinking.

"Helga, do you know what's going on?"

_**~O~**_

Several hours later, Helga sat at the window, looking out at the creatures stumbling around. How long had it been since all this crap began? It couldn't have been a week already, she barely remembered the passing of one day, let alone six or seven. She had been holding up relatively well, but the rest of them, well, it just couldn't be said.

Phoebe tossed in her restless sleep again, and the blonde wanted nothing more than to go over and comfort her friend, but she found herself transfixed by these creatures. Her classmates, as naïve as they tended to be, couldn't be so dense as to not realize what they are by now. _**No one**_ is that blind.

An agonized screech of pure terror ripped down the street, and Helga's placid eyes swept along until they found the source: a woman just outside of Greene's Meats, armed with a slightly bent-out-of-shape 9 iron, was being savagely attacked by a mob. A morbid sort of smirk flitted across her lips before she had a chance to stop it, and the thought entered her brain without her permission.

_Ironic, getting chewed to death outside a butcher's shop._ The smirk disappeared in a flash, as the cruel reflection was followed by another. _They're getting more aggressive; we'll have to get out of here soon before the only thing left for them to chase is us. That's if we don't starve to death first._ Her stomach growling was punctuation to that, and she blushed when she thought of how hungry she was even as she watched the monsters attack another poor, hapless idiot trying to brave the streets alone and inadequately armed.

"And crawling on the planet's face, some insects called the human race. Lost in time, lost in space, and in meaning." She muttered prophetically while eying the dirty teeth and rotting hands claw and chew into the flesh. This was stupid. They were going to die, and her classmates were too distracted by waiting for the government to even notice. Blind faith in a government that probably didn't even exist anymore.

"Helga? Why are you still awake?" the voice of her ever dense, ever lovable Football Head startled her from the beginnings of her scheming, and she couldn't find the will to put up her walls. Not at this hour at least.

"I'm keeping watch, someone has to after all. And keeping myself busy by studying the competition." Her smirk was hallow, but even that was more than he could muster.

"You know something you aren't telling, don't you? All week we've been tossing back and forth ideas on just what is going on, and you've been silent. And then there are all those dead and half eaten people out on the streets, and in the hallways. And how you and Mr. Simmons keep telling everyone to stay away from the windows, the doors. What's going on? Is it a terrorist attack or something?" This time she did manage a smile, small as it was, and motioned him over to join her at the window. At first he wasn't sure what he was looking for, but when another scream pierced the night air, his eyes found it.

A group of four, headed east, were cornered between a bus and a mob of he wasn't sure what. But they certainly looked mean. The group managed to make it on the bus and secure the doors after popping off a few shots, which Arnold suddenly realized was what they had been hearing all week. The bus roared to life, a managed to take off into the night, making it three blocks when it suddenly swerved chaotically, before flipping on its side. The horde had caught up by then, and soon the windows and doors were broken down, and the screams came quick and fierce, then suddenly died.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Arnold had to turn his eyes away, choosing instead to look at Helga as she surveyed the whole ordeal with a passive expression.

"Wha?" he couldn't seem to voice his question, although to be honest he wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask. Helga didn't bother to look at him, rather lifted her orbs east, watching the moon rise over the city in an eerie glow.

"That's our competition Football Head, and the longer we stay here, the more likely we are to lose. Simmons is just as much aware of this as I am, so don't worry, we're working on a plan to keep you wimps save and alive. Just go back to sleep, and keep away from the windows and door." Her words held nowhere near the usual bite they always seemed to carry, and Arnold was suddenly struck with the realization that she was planning on protecting them. She was extending they olive branch, and he actually recognized it this time.

"Nah, it's still early, I think I'll stay awake a while yet. I'd like to help you scope the competition." She smiled again, knowing full well the real reason he didn't want to go back to sleep was because he was worried about his family. Much like the majority of the class that wasn't wiped out from pure exhaustion was also awake, thinking about their parents, their siblings, the family they weren't sure they still had. But she accepted his offer all the same, because after a week of being holed up in her fourth grade classroom with traumatized friends, reeking to high heaven in need of a shower, and eating only small portions of preserved foods and snack foods while a zombie apocalypse raged on outside had taken its toll on Helga. All she really needed was a hug.

And that's just what Arnold gave her.

HA


	3. March 25th

_**Disclaimer: So, here's another dose of apocalyptic Hey! Arnold. So, did no one appreciate the Ruth McDougal plug I put in the last chapter? I did it just for you! By the way, I got so many reviews the other day, maybe I should tell you to suck it more often. Hmm . . . :**_

_**~ Oi, non reviewers; suck my dick bitch! ~**_

_**(I actually don't have one, is my envy showing yet?)**_

_**((That line will probably make another appearance in the actually story, just so you're aware.))**_

HA

The light came in from the windows, tainted by the clouds and unexplainable grime. Helga moaned softly, sleep slowly leaving her brain as her eyes opened at the hit of a peculiar smell. She found herself against Arnold's arms, not quite an embrace but more like the pair was simply leaning on each other. His face wasn't particularly peaceful, but then, no one had worn a look of peace and contentment since that first day. Reaching up, Helga gently ran a couple of fingers through a small portion of his hair, sighing with something akin to gratefulness.

"My beloved, my despair." _Thank you_.

That smell assaulted her nose again, and she shifted away from her classmate in order to look out the glass and onto the streets below. What had to be thousands of residents of Hillwood City were wandering, stumbling, and bumping into each other in the early morning light. With a sick feeling of horror the blonde realized they were out there hunting. Those faces she had never before seen, and worse the ones she had grown up with, were stalking the blocks and neighborhoods in search of fresh meat.

For her and her classmates and any other survivors that might still be out there.

"Helga?" The voice was quiet for the morning, and Helga turned her attention to her caring, almost too-innocent and balding teacher. He was sitting propped up against his desk, Sid buried into one side and Harold in the other; the boys had been crying, she acknowledged when she spotted the wet marks on their cheeks.

"We have to get out, move, do something. We can't stay here forever , surviving on hidden junk food and leftover cheese zombies; although those things could probably last an eternity, knowing _our_ lunch lady." He nodded, then motioned her closer. She stepped over Gerald and Phoebe, who were cuddling on the floor, and around Curly who was sprawled on his back on top of a desk. Rhonda and Nadine slid some chairs together, forming a makeshift bed, but the majority of the class was sleeping not so soundly on the floor. Sitting cross-legged before her teacher, Helga was more than ready to dish out plans of survival.

"Helga, first things first I think we should tell them the truth." Without meaning to, the little girl slapped her forehead.

"Simmons, don't be a boob. We're kids, and if we tell them you know what they're gonna want to do. I'm not sure if they can handle that just yet."

"But if we're to leave here and find a special place to survive, the rest of the class is bound to find out in any case. Wouldn't it be wiser to have it sooner rather than later?" Helga just looked at him, long and hard before she lowered her head.

"I suppose you have a point; but it will bring our breaking point to right now, rather than a few weeks like I was hoping for. So, if we tell them now, you're going to have to let me tell them, and not butt in even if you don't like it." Mr. Simmons was quiet for a time, as if mulling over her conditions, when he silently agreed.

"Ok Helga. But let them wake up on their own."

She could do that.

They didn't have to wait long, for around nine o'clock – the school clocks weren't working so they had to rely on the sun – an inhuman sort of growl shriek tore through the streets and ripped through the window. All her sleeping classmates must have jumped three feet in the air, and overall Helga was impressed: no one cried this time. The undead were quickly become a routine alarm clock for the kids.

Having watched her share of survivors being overcome at the doors of her prison, Helga had picked up on a few dos and don'ts when it came to zombies and how to _**not**_ get eaten. First and foremost in her mind, it was no surprise then, was how to best capitalize on what she had learned: like hair. Standing up, she wandered over to the arts supplies, picked up a couple pairs of scissors, and sauntered back up to Mr. Simmons' desk, which she proceeded to stand on. By this time, the rest of her friends and classmates were awake, wiping sleep from their eyes and stumbling over to Helga, curious to see if she snapped or not.

And they had all thought it would have been Curly.

"Alright, listen up guys. Me and Simmons have decided that we need to get our butts out of this room before we all go insane. In order to do that, though, we have to make a few preparations; so everyone with hair to their shoulders or longer come stand over here. Phoebe, I'll need your help with this." The bossy blonde ordered as she moved to step off the desk, her Kent-Asian friend brushing away from Gerald towards the front of the room.

"Helping." Phoebe quipped quickly, inconspicuously slipping a piece of paper into her friend's pocket once she got there.

"And just _**what**_ are you going to do with those scissors, Pataki?" Rhonda would have snarled had she had the energy. As it was, though, she could only manage a half sneer as she stood by Nadine, who was already measuring her braids.

"What do you _think_, Princess? We're going to have to cut some hair." More exhausted than anything else, Helga smiled and waved the implements of destruction less than menacingly.

"Oh no, no uh-ah no way! You are not cutting my hair!" even as she was shouting this, Curly was up and standing in front of Helga, ready and waiting for his haircut. Helga just smiled at his enthusiasm, and brought his hair back up to the top of his ears, and eliminated his cowlick.

"Look in a mirror lately Rhonda? Your hair is short enough already. The ones I'm concerned about are Nadine, Sheena, Phoebe, Lila, Gerald, although his defies gravity so I'm not sure, me and maybe Arnold. Preferably, if your hair is long enough to be grabbed and gripped easily, I want it cut."

"Grabbed and gripped? Helga, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about surviving, kiddos, something I would desperately like to do."

"Surviving what? What's out there?"

"Ugh! ZOMBIES! Criminy man, have none of you seen a decent movie in your young lives?" Helga finally snapped out, and everyone looked at her, well, looked at her like she was Curly.

"Zombies, Helga? Are you sure you didn't have a nightmare. I'm sure it's nothing ever so dramatic as that. There's probably a lo-" Lila's attempt at sanity failed when Helga slapped her forehead, much harder than earlier.

"A logical explanation? Ok, you know what, here, everyone get your butts over to the windows. Let me show you what Simmons and I were protecting you from seeing. Football Head, scoot over, let them see." Arnold looked at her slightly alarmed; could the class handle this? He could barely handle it last night, and that was in the dark. He hadn't dared try to see what they looked like in the daylight.

"Here, let's take a look, shall we? Let's see, ah, there's one. See that woman down there missing an arm? Alright, keep your eyes on her," stepping away from the window, Helga grabbed one of the older geography textbooks, then shoved one of the desks away from the whole in order to chuck it. It came nowhere near the woman, but the sound of it hitting the ground made her – and everyone else on the street – turn and stagger towards it. The classroom filled with gasps. "Yeah, that's Mrs. Vitello. Or it was. Three days ago she was attempting to flee, and was cornered down by Greene's Meats. They ate her, _**then**_ killed her, and fifteen minutes later she was up and on her feet again. Yesterday another group of survivors tried to take a bus out of the city, and her arm was ripped off in the process. Those survivors didn't make it.

"And that poor creature next to her, the one that's had an ectomy of everything below the hips? Her name is Lauren Edwards, her dad owns The Turntables over on fifth and Ashman. Phoebe and I would often see her at the park and would plan our world domination. Tomorrow is her tenth birthday." Once again, a few of her classmates threw up at the sights and smells of rotting flesh, before they all retreated to the inner part of the room.

"We can stay here until the military or government comes. They have to, there has to be a rescue attempt in progress." Sid argued, much to the chagrin of Helga. She sent a look to Mr. Simmons, who did his best to shrug his shoulders and look sympathetic, before she turned her attention back to her friends.

"I need you guys to listen to me very, very carefully, ok? The fact is, that in all likely hood there is no more government or military, and if there was, we wouldn't even be on that rescue list. None of us are the children of government officials, high ranking military personnel, or scientists. Rhonda is the only rich kid here, but in the end that doesn't really matter. We don't matter to anyone but each other, and therefore can only rely on each other." That hurt, she knew that hurt, it was painful to even say, but for them to have the best chance of survival, they needed to know.

"But, the school is still locked down, right? So we are ever so safe that way, and we still have some food. We can wait it out – these, _zombies_, can't last forever." Just hearing the word on the redhead's tongue, so foreign and unused, nearly made Helga laugh. But she didn't.

"Neither can we. We have barely enough food, even with the rations we have, to last us another week. It'll take much longer for them to decompose past the point of being a threat. And as for the lockdown, well, we may be safe from the ones outside, but that doesn't protect us against the ones locked in the school with us."

There, she said it. And the only ones who didn't gasp, cry out or flip were, well, herself, Phoebe, and Mr. Simmons. He was actually starting to gain some more respect in her book; he hadn't had a mental break down yet.

"There are zombies in the school?" Harold cried, and was about to start wailing for his mommy, but Helga slapped him before he had the chance.

"Quiet Pink Boy! Yes, there are zombies in the school, and they are attracted to noise, so the more you make the more we'll have breaking down our defenses. That's why we have to get our butts outta here." It was then that the students all quietly lined up before Helga and Phoebe, and the two began making quick cuts so everyone's hair was on the shorter side of their necks. After a few minutes of silence save for the snipping, Nadine made a thought known that had been bothering her since she saw Mrs. Vitello.

"What about our families?"

Even the cutting stopped.

They all turned to Helga, who let her eyes shift to the window, where they stayed for a long time. They knew she was thinking, but only Phoebe knew what plagued her mind. She was thinking back to the other night, when all the others save for her best friend were sleeping. They had been taking turns practicing their aim with Helga's slingshot and all the lunch change they could find. Testing to see if the zombies could be killed, they found that a high velocity quarter to the brain could take them out, but anywhere was pointless.

_Looks like the movies were right about another thing_, her friend whispered before she nearly swallowed her tongue. Before Phoebe could ask what was wrong, Helga took an amazingly steady aim, let go a shaky breath and sent a dime flying. Moments later a thump could be heard, and Phoebe followed her friend's gaze, only to find a large creature which was once a man, with grey hair and a green golf shirt, laying face up in a small puddle of coagulated blood, a hole above his unibrow.

"Keep them alive in your memory, but going out to find them is suicide. Besides, you're better off not knowing anyway." She muttered quietly, cutting off the long braids Nadine always loved.

"WHAT? But Helga, those are our parents! They could still be alive and coming to get us! How can you tell us to just leave them to possibly die?" Arnold finally spoke up, and Helga didn't bother to look up from her task as she and Phoebe finished the last of their classmates. The young Kent-Asian took out her half bun and turned her back on her friend, who gripped a handful of hair, and cut.

"Arnold, I can say that staying here to wait or going out to find them will end in, Phoebs, percent -"

"98.6725"

"99 percent probability of death, the kind where you get back up. And I can guarantee that if they come to get us, it won't be for a rescue." The room was quiet again as they all thought of their families dead, and worse, not exactly dead. Helga had finished up Phoebe's hair, and pulled out her own pigtails when a voice broke the silence.

"All we wanna do is eat your brains." They all turned to Curly, who was sitting atop the desk he slept on, swinging his legs back and forth and softly singing. With everyone's gaze on him, he stopped slowly, making eye contact with everyone in the room.

"Too soon?" he asked, and Helga nodded as she pulled off her pink bow.

"Yeah." Curly shrugged, and went back to swinging his legs as Helga lopped off her hair at the chin, and stuffed her bow in the front of her pocket. She was startled when her fingers brushed against something else already in there, and quickly pulled out a piece of paper. Reading it, she shared a small smile with Phoebe, and mouthed a thank you before shoving the note back in her pocket and gathering her friends help find suitable weapons and going over escape strategies.

_Happy Birthday, Helga. _

_Love Phoebe._

_**~O~**_

Elsewhere in the city, a woman in a purple turtle neck and jeans burst out of Smith, Weston & Sons gun and supply store in a fiery blaze of glory. Well aimed shots to the heads of the zombies closest to her cleared her path to the 1988 firebird she'd taken from her apartment complex parking lot. Repositioning the stuffed full duffle bag onto her shoulder, she ran and slid over the hood of the car; a lovely young man tried to grab onto one of her flailing limbs and sink his yellow teeth and rotting mouth into her flesh.

Right before she shoved the business end of her shotgun into his mouth and blew his head clear away.

The car door firmly shut behind her, she turned the screwdriver used as a makeshift key and took off into the streets, but only after she dared to risk lowering the window just enough to toss out a hand grenade. The echoing boom that followed shortly after caused a strangled laugh to leap from her throat.

"Suck my dick bitches!" she shouted while peeling away.

This was still a bad situation. She knew that just by sneaking a glance at the fuel gage, and how that bastard had the audacity to shine the gas light at her from the dashboard. She could only last so long before she would have to ditch the car and find a place to crash for the night. Slamming her hand on the steering wheel, she cursed, hating having her hand forced like this, especially by a white trash asshole that only had a quarter tank in his piece of crap car when the apocalypse hits. She had hoped to be out of the city by today, but after that little stunt to get more ammunition and bigger guns, her best bet would be tomorrow. Stupid.

It was as she rounded the corner of a local public school that she noticed something was off. There were a good number of re-dead undead on the asphalt, with holes in their heads. Were there survivors here, or was it a ragtag group that met their end?

"No, don't get too excited or concerned. Groups kill you faster than zombies. Just ignore it." Her ritual chant had been working fairly well, and it seemed it would this time, too. That is, until her eyes caught those of the kids from a second story window that had come to see if they were really hearing a car. She couldn't be sure if they were zombies or not, until they started waving at her – all save a short haired blonde girl and a tall, balding man.

"No, no, no, and no," she looked in the mirror as if to better argue with herself, "there is _**no way**_ you are going up there."

_***.*.***_

"I can't _**believe**_ I'm going up there." She moaned not three seconds later as she pulled up to the side of the building, shooting at the zombies approaching while she climbed onto the roof of the car. She heard the sound of desks being moved, and chanced a glance up to see several little heads looking down at her and reaching for her hands.

"Come on, lady! Hurry up! It reeks out here!" one of the larger kids yelled, and in a spark of anger she looked at him with her gun.

"Give me a minute!" she shouted back, before hazarding a few more shots, and taking out another grenade before chucking her duffle back up at them. It took three or four of them, but they were able to pull it inside before grabbing down for her. Pulling out the pin and tossing the grenade into the middle of the mob before jumping up and clutching their hands. Her heart nearly stopped when she felt a hand grip her ankle from below, and looked down to see a dead old lady biting into her boot; then a single shot rang out, and the old woman fell away, a neat little hole in her head. Looking up again, she saw that same blonde haired girl, one of the automatic rifles perched on her shoulder, her aim deadly. The kid nodded to her, then reached over to grab one of her classmates and together they hauled the newcomer into the room. With nearly unbelievable speed the kids moved as one to put the desks back in place and duck below the windowsill. Just in time, too.

Not a second later the grenade went off, and the glass was blown out the window.

"Alright guys, we need to get these windows boarded up or blocked. They're attracted to sound and light, and that was one hell of a beacon." Setting down the rifle, the girl turned to help her friends, but the new comer stopped her.

"Hey kid, where'd you learn to shoot like that?" the girl looked at her, and the woman couldn't help but feel like she was being sized up.

"You're looking at the District 8 City Paintball Champion, 2003." The woman almost laughed, as she and the kid helped move some of the more heaving desks to block the giant hole in the wall.

"No shit. District 7 Champ, 1995. How'd you manage champion? You're like what, eight?" the girl just looked at her as if were used to hearing that.

"I'm ten, actually."

A boy with blonde hair and a very odd shaped head stopped what he was doing to look at her with a bemused smile on his face.

"When did you turn ten, Helga?" he asked, apparently trying to keep the conversations light and away from zombies, explosions, death, and guns.

"March 25th."

His smile fell.

The world may have ended at the beginning of the week, but everyone was still well aware of what day it was. The room was quiet, before the blonde boy spoke once more.

"Happy birthday, Helga."

HA


	4. Before the End of the World

_**Disclaimer: Who knew everyone wanted a Hey! Arnold zombie fic? If I'd known it was going to be this popular, I would have actually started publishing it a lot sooner! By the way. Do you guys really not pick up on some of the stuff I write in here, or do you just find it far too heavy to comment on in reviews? Oh, I gave Peapod Kid an actual name because I highly doubt his parents would have named him that, and Mr. Simmons doesn't strike me as the type to call him Peapod, let alone Peapod Kid.**_

HA

The kids all watched as the woman took off the cap covering most of her head, revealing ridiculously short, spiky dark brown hair, with just a touch of the dreaded hat hair. Running her fingers through it a few times to break it away from her scalp, she shoved the cap in her back pocket before turning to her duffle bag. Not long after she began sifting through her portable arsenal, she could feel all the little eyes burning into her back, and so slowly returned to meet their gazes. The room was quiet for a time as they just sat, watching one another, before Mr. Simmons cleared his throat.

"Well, my that was a very special display of survival tactics." He began, to which all the woman did was raise an eyebrow in mock interest. Being met with the figurative brick wall, the older teacher decided to try again.

"I'm Robert Simmons, fourth grade teacher here, and these are my students; Phoebe, Gerald, Arnold, Sheena, Harold, Stinky, Lila, Sid, Robert, Curly, Rhonda, Nadine, Eugene, Iggy, Park, Brainy, Joey, Lorenzo, Torvald, Peter, and Helga" Her dark brown eyes catching Helga's, the two shared a brief moment of unspoken thanks.

"Chava." All but Harold, Curly, Phoebe and Helga looked at her strangely, trying to decide for themselves if she had said Chava, Chaya, Haya, Hava, or some other strange variation they couldn't comprehend. In honesty, it sounded like she was clearing her throat.

"Life or serpent?" Harold asked boldly, and Chava eyed him coolly before smirking.

"You be the judge of that. So I'm guessing you've been here since the beginning, huh? That's rough, especially for brats your age. And who was the one pickin 'em off outside? Was it you?" Mr. Simmons looked genuinely surprised when she pointed to him, holding up his hands and shaking his head.

"Me? Oh heavens no. I'm nearsighted." Chava certainly didn't miss the elbow jab the little Asian girl gave Helga, figuring as much. Anyone that good with a gun, no matter what their age, was a force to be reckoned with. Shaking off her thoughts, Chava began taking a quick stock of what she had left in her duffle bag, this time ignoring the stares at her back. Wandering over to the woman, Helga quietly stood by her side as the others slunk back into their little cliques and groups, trying to find a way to kill time until something happened; the dark haired woman watched her out of the corner of her eye for a few minutes before the little girl decided to talk.

"So, where're you headed?" Chava sighed, before pulling Helga down to her level so the others wouldn't hear what she had to say.

"Listen kid, I don't know what or who you think I am, but I am _**not**_ here to rescue you. I'm simply here to save my own ass, gather up supplies, and then I'll be on my way." Helga nodded at her honesty, then suddenly changed her demeanor from curious to diplomatic.

"And you listen to me lady; I don't care what or who you are. But I need your help; I mean, look at them; I have to take care of all of those poor saps. I'm only ten, I can't do it by myself." Motioning to her classmates, Helga fought hard to drive her point home, and Chava had to admit, they were a pathetic looking ragtag group of survivors.

"What about Simmons?"

"Might as well be one of them; guy is useful, but not nearly as useful as you."

"I don't want you on my conscience should you not make it."

"I hate to break it to you sister, but it doesn't matter now if you take or leave us. Take us and we could die on your watch, leave us and you'll always be thinking about if we lived or died. Like it or not, it was out of your hands the second we made eye contact." Chava had to hand it to her, the girl was a skilled negotiator.

"Give me one good reason why I should haul your butts along."

"We all have some sort of skill that you can use."

"That's something you'll have to prove. Nice, try again."

"I can get you out of the school, as well as transportation."

_***.*.***_

Arnold looked over in time to see Helga and that new woman, Chava shake hands, each with a cat that ate the canary smirk. Chava stood suddenly, stepped onto an upright desk, and began snapping her fingers in order to get everyone's attention.

"Kids, Oi! Listen up! I want you all to get in a line. Come on, line up right now." Sid stepped forward with his hand partially raised.

"Does it matter what order?"

"Do you want to live? What am I saying? Just get in line!" There was much mumbling, and Arnold could pick up Stinky reckoning she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

"Ok, who here knows how to use any sort of weapon accurately?"

Helga, Phoebe, Stinky, Gerald, Torvald, and surprisingly, Curly, all raised their hands. Only Arnold caught the low fist bump shared between Helga and Curly.

"Ah-huh. And how many of you can cook, without modern day conveniences?"

Helga, Phoebe, Stinky, Lila, Nadine, Sheena, Arnold and Sid.

"Hm, and how many of you would be able to safely and accurately identify plants?"

Phoebe, Sid, Nadine, and Peapod Kid; Helga raised her hand, but quickly shook it to show she knew some, but not much.

"And how many of you would be able to use that knowledge for medical purposes; and know anything about medicine beyond first aide?"

Phoebe.

"You two are quickly become my favorite survivors." She joked towards Phoebe and Helga, before turning back to address the others.

"From today on, you will all be learning these basic survival skills, because those creatures out there are _**not**_ your friends, are _**not**_ your family, are not even _**human**_. They _**will**_ eat you, they _**will**_ kill you, in that order given the chance. At dawn tomorrow we will begin our escape, right now I will break you up into groups, and we'll prepare for the morning.

"Helga, I need you to lead a squad down to the sick bay; gather any and all medications we might need. You'll take Phoebe, that kid, that kid, that kid, and those two.

"Bowl cut kid, you take a squad down the kitchens; if it's not spoiled, take it. You, you, you, you, you, and you go with him.

"And Wheezy, you'll lead the rest of them. I need your squad to stay here and forge any sort of weapon with whatever you can find; you'll also be doing some basic training with me since none of you have any sort of known skill with a weapon.

"Simmons, do you have a couple of stopwatches?" for the first time since giving her orders, Chava waited for a response from the slightly overwhelmed teacher.

"A wha-? Oh, OH! Yes, why, I should have some right – let's see where did I stick – ah-ha! Here they are." Digging through his desk, Simmons searched frantically in a plethora of drawers before finding what he was looking for – they were going to be using those stopwatches when they built CO2 cars next week. Handing them over to the woman in charge, she quickly turned to Helga and Curly, handing them each a time piece.

"I want each squad out to have a stopwatch; since it's getting late today, as soon as you hit fifteen minutes, I want you to turn around and come straight back to this classroom – I don't care what you're doing or how important you think it is, you drop what you are doing and get right back here. If you aren't back in thirty, I will consider you overcome and therefore lost to us. The door will be barricaded behind you, so when you get back I want you to knock out S.O.S. in Morse Code." Dot-dot-dot-dash-dash-dash-dot-dot-dot.

"By doing this you declare yourself a squad and not a zombie, and we'll cover you if need be as you reenter the classroom. Any questions?" Helga and Curly, thinking the same thing, both saluted their commander as they shook their heads.

"Good. Each squad take one gun and any debris you see usable for a blunt object. And remember, thirty minutes or I consider you dead."

Helga's squad, consisting of Phoebe, Arnold, Nadine, Gerald, Sid and Stinky, went to work collecting the legs of desks and chairs that had been blown off, while Curly's group of Joey, Park, Robert, Sheena, Iggy and Torvald grabbed dislodged pieces of who knows what. When the fourteen of them made it out the door some three minutes later, Helga and Curly decided they would travel together for as long as they could.

With the Gammelthorpe in the front and Helga bringing up the rear, the groups moved quickly and quietly through the halls of P.S. 118, trying to ignore the run down facilities, and the smell of death. Without the power on, the kids were forced to rely on the natural light let in through the windows, but the shadows were still many. Shadows that were cruel to Helga's mind, tricking her into thinking she saw something she didn't.

"Curly, does anyone in your squad have a sling shot?" she called up quietly when one peculiar shadow moved in a way it shouldn't.

"No, why?" Helga groaned, motioning Phoebe over as the groups kept moving. Arnold watched with interest as Phoebe nodded and walked away from her friend, into the darkness. Helga slowed down, not enough to be noticeable, but enough should her friend need her. A thump was heard, and they all tensed as Phoebe rejoined the group, the end of her flagpole red, and none were the wiser.

None save Arnold.

"Good luck Curly." Helga wished once they had reached the divider hallway that would split them into two groups. Curly held out his hand, and the two shook with what seemed to be friendship.

"You as well, Helga."

And that was that. The squad leaders turned away from each other, and began their paths in separate directions. Thirty feet down their hallway, Arnold stepped up to Helga, curiosity on his face as he momentarily forgot the situation around them.

"When did you and Curly get that friendly, Helga?" he asked as they rounded a corner and entered the nurse's station. Carefully avoiding the now rotten corpse of Shelly, Phoebe led the way to the medicine cabinet, and began taking every drug off the shelf and placing it in her book bag. Nadine, who also brought a book bag, was going through all the drawers in search of syringes, bandages, medical tap, antiseptic, and anything else that could be useful.

"Since he came in second in the District 8 City Paintball Championship last year. Ok guys, set up a small perimeter, keep watch around Phoebe and Nadine while they grab the supplies. Arnold, eye the door, Stinky that window, Gerald, the door to my left, Sid, the curtains. If anything moves, don't hesitate to use force."

Given their tasks, everyone moved quickly into position, Helga gave the gun she had taken from Chava, a moderately sized handgun, to Stinky as she took the flagpole from Phoebe. All was going smoothly, until Arnold noticed movement out of the door frame. Slow and swift, he was out the door, looking in all directions, the leg of the chair held high in his arms. Wandering away from the door and down the hallway, he tried to spot the movement again; but when he couldn't find it, decided to turn back before Helga killed him.

That was when he came face to face with Ruth MacDougal.

Helga whipped her head around the room. Where had that idiot gone off to? And disobeying her direct order? Heads would roll. A sudden thump from outside the door had everyone on edge, and Helga instantly knew where he was.

"Stay here; do not move unless you are about to get eaten." As she was out the door, a few of them could swear they heard her growl out _Football_ _Head_.

The leg fell from his grasp as he stumbled backwards, too stunned to speak. Ruth was a mess; her hair was matted to her head and face, her eyes were fogged over with death, her skin was starting to bloat, and she had a large gaping wound on her calf. All around her mouth was red, and Arnold didn't want to speculate on what it was, nor how it got there. A moan moved passed her lips as she reached for him, slowly but with a purpose.

"Ru-ruth?" he stuttered out, backing away from her as she grew closer. Her arm outstretched and suddenly her mouth opened in a snarl as she dive bombed for his own forearm when –

_**WHACK!**_

Helga hit her upside the head with a huge amount of force, holding the flagpole like a baseball bat. The force was enough to knock Ruth onto the ground, where Helga stepped on her back and swiftly brought the pointed eagle down into the sixth grader's skull. Twisting it twice, just to be sure, Helga grunted as she ripped the end out of the zombie head.

Ruth didn't move.

"Football Head! Next time don't go out alone! What, do you have some kind of death wish?" Arnold just stared at the corpse of Ruth MacDougal, coagulated blood attempting to pour from her head as Helga scolded him.

"You-you killed her." He muttered, and Helga stopped mid rant to look at him. He was still watching her – the zombie that tried to _**eat him**_ – and had the audacity to look mournful. Deflating, Helga grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the sick bay entrance where the rest of the squad was waiting for them. She didn't reprimand them for disobeying her orders, simply traded the flagpole for the gun and led the return trip. A few shots rang out, echoing through the deserted hallways, and the group picked up speed.

They ran into Curly's group back where they separated, and Helga immediately noticed that they had picked up another survivor.

"Hey Patty." Helga greeted solemnly, which Patty returned.

"Gammelthorpe, what they hell were you thinking? They're attracted to sound, you know that." Curly had the decency to look partially guilty, before pointing over his shoulder. The kids could make out two forms on the ground; one of a skinny older man, and slumped over him was a large man.

"Isn't that Mr. Packenham?" Phoebe asked, while Nadine turned away. Patty closed her eyes while Curly looked Helga dead in the eye.

"It _was _Mr. Packenham." Helga nodded, giving the other form a once over before turning back towards their classroom.

"I hope you took care of the problem then, Gammelthorpe. We better get moving, the thirty is almost up and I can already hear the others being drawn towards those gunshots," after a few minutes of quiet moving, Helga voiced her other thoughts, "At least we now know what happened to Wartz."

_**~O~**_

Patty had revealed, once they were all back in the safety of the classroom, that she had been holed up in room 205 with Mr. Packenham, when Wartz joined them a few days ago. He had looked a little worse for wear, but seemed fine. Today, though, it was learned that he had been bitten and thus infected by one of the zombies when he tried to take a chunk out of her. Mr. Packenham fought him off, but was overcome by the larger man, and Wartz was content to eat him while Patty could do nothing but hide and watch. That is, until Curly's squad came upon her and shot both faculty members in the head.

The evening progressed quietly after that.

It was a little past ten at night, and all the students were asleep, save for Helga who was watching the street below through a peephole. To her credit, she sat far enough away from Chava and Simmons, and pretended not to listen to them talk quietly as she watched. For all the adults knew, she really wasn't listening.

Whatever the case, Chava was grateful to the little girl.

"Do you have any kids?" Mr. Simmons asked in the darkness as they sat back against his desk, staring out into nothing.

"I had a toddler, a daughter named Nora," she grew quiet for a long time, but Mr. Simmons didn't dare break her thoughts, "I will never forget the image of my daughter when she was no longer mine. Her little legs running towards me, arms reached out, not in love but in rage and hunger. Her mouth snapping at me as she tried to bite." Astounded by what he was hearing, Mr. Simmons could only sit and listen.

"Her frail little body against mine as I held her after shooting her in the head."

Clearing his throat, Robert Simmons let her know that he couldn't listen anymore. She nodded in the darkness, completely understanding.

"You better watch over your kids well, Robert. Nothing is harder than losing them twice."

"But I don't have any children.

"Yes you do. You are the father to all these kids now. The moment this shit hit the fan, their families were lost. You're the only one they have left."

The pair let the conversation drop for quite some time. Maybe it was ten minutes, maybe an hour. Time was irrelevant now.

"So, what were you before the end of the world?" Chava asked casually, as if she had never told him of her child. The question threw him off, but after thinking about it for a moment, Mr. Simmons answered.

"I was a teacher."

Her laughter was soft, and he found it pleasing to hear after all that they had been through in the last week.

"I didn't ask you what you did, I asked what you were." He thought about it some more, before trying again.

"I was a gay man."

And there was that laughter again.

"You mean you aren't anymore?"

She was making this difficult. Several minutes went by as he thought about how to better answer her tricky question. Finally, he believed he came across the answer.

"I was a hopeless romantic."

The laughter was softer and accepting this time, and he knew he answered correctly.

"So? What were you before the end of the world?" Even though he couldn't see it, he could tell she was smiling.

"I was a conspiracy theorist."

_***.*.***_

Helga sat by the window, looking out through the peephole and into nothing. Her mind was lost in thought, revolving around the events earlier in the day. She had saved his life. She _**saved**_ his _**life**_. If she hadn't followed him when she did, he would have been eaten by that zombie. And even if she had been even one second later, Ruth would have gotten a good chunk out of his flesh, and then she would have had no other choice but to put them both down. He should be thanking her.

But what does he do instead? He whines about her killing an _already_ dead girl, doesn't look at her, doesn't thank her, nothing. Just mourns over the twice dead body of a girl who never even knew he existed until she wanted to eat him. Doesn't it figure?

Even dead he chose Ruth MacDougal over her.

Now that she thought about it, aside from Chava she was probably the only one that was adequately ready for survival. She had aim, knew what her objectives were, and was able to put surviving above bonds if need be. After all, she had killed her own father two days ago, hadn't she? And while she may not have gotten along with any of her family, she still loved them, and it still hurt.

It hurt just as much as Arnold pinning over a zombie instead of thanking her for saving his life. What kind of jerk doesn't thank the person who saved their butt from a painful, gruesome death? _Maybe I just won't go out of my way to save him anymore_, she thought to herself with a smirk.

Yet even as she thought that she knew it was a lie.

HA


	5. Rita, Queen of the City

_**Disclaimer: Did you miss me? I know you did, don't lie. My ranting in the previous disclaimer didn't feature an actual disclaimer, so I'll try again: Disclaimer: I don't own Hey! Arnold, nor the idea of zombies, but I do own Chava. Happy holidays. **_

HA

_Wandering through the halls of P.S. 118, Helga couldn't have been more at peace, nor more on edge. Everything looked like how it was before the whole zombie thing. Did that mean it hadn't happened? Was it all a dream? The idea was certainly appealing._

_But then, where were all her classmates? The teachers? The faculty? Why were the halls deserted? Everything may have looked normal, but that didn't mean that it was._

_She came upon her classroom door; it was shut, but not locked. Twisting the handle, she took a deep breath and stepped inside, taking a mental inventory of all she could see. This room was deserted too, but none of the windows were blown out, and all twenty one of the desks were neatly arranged into their rows. The natural sunlight came in through the glass, the blackboard was clear with the chalk and erasers all accounted for. The flag on the wall hung limply over the globe on Simmons' desk. _

_The clock on the wall said 12:41._

"_Hello?" she called out hoarsely, her voice raspy from lack of use. Her greeting echoed around the classroom, but ultimately fell on deaf ears. There was no one else in there with her, she was just being stupid. _

_A moan slithered into her ear from the left, and spinning on her heel she couldn't find it in herself to shriek. There were her classmates, all rotten and undead, stumbling towards her. Pale from blood loss, they blocked her escape as they flooded in not only from the door, but it seemed out of the woodwork as well. It didn't really matter to Helga though, for she knew she probably wouldn't have moved or escaped, even if she had been given the chance._

"_Criminy . . ." she whispered as she felt something tugging on her leg. Looking down, she found Lauren on her right leg – or what was left of her friend. She was missing everything from the waist down, and her brown hair was matted to her face as she put her green mouth around Helga's flesh. Phoebe was on the other side, snarling and hissing as she bit into her best friend._

_Suddenly, one of the slow moving zombies hissed and swooped in, aiming to take a good chunk out of her neck, quickly leading the rest of them. Helga could feel their teeth as they latched onto her flesh, scratching and clawing as they feasted on her in the classroom they once shared. One of them broke the skin, and suddenly they had all broken through her body's last defense. _

_Even at the end, Helga didn't scream._

Bolting up from her position against the blocked window, Helga tried to steady her heartbeat and slow her breathing. That dream was very detailed, and very real. Even now, she could still feel the spots on her skin where she imagined them biting – shivering she rubbed her arms in an effort to erase away the memory.

"You ok kid?" a voice broke the early morning silence, and Helga found Chava, the only other one awake, leaning against Simmons' desk with the man slumped against her shoulder. Her brown eyes stared intensely at the little girl, and Helga shrugged as she moved over to sit by the older woman.

"Just a nightmare I guess. So, what's your plan once we get out of the school?" she asked, popping her neck and knees with a relief-filled crack as Chava just eyed her.

"I want to go somewhere unpopulated; and I've noticed they move a lot slower in the cold. I'm thinking North." She explained, and Helga nodded, giving no real sign of what she thought, but Chava had the idea the young blonde beside her had been thinking the same thing.

"Like Canada."

"Yeah. At this point flying and sailing are out of the question, so Canada seems to be the most viable option. Now tell me, you promised transportation; what could you possibly have to bargain with?" Helga smirked, and Chava vaguely realized that the girl was probably wondering what took her so long to ask. But whatever she was thinking, she said nothing.

"P.S. 118 is one of the few schools built with the bus garage attached and fully enclosed. The closest entrance is on the floor below us, on the west side of the building. The access is limited, so the likely hood of zombies is small. The pumping station city rigs use to refuel is two blocks down, where we can stock up on extra fuel and anything else we may be able to find. I have a feeling you have a plan on what you want to do with the transport, so I'll let you take it from there."

They sat in silence for a bit, imagining what it would be like to hear the birds once more as the sun rose.

"Thought about this, have you?" Chava eventually asked, but it really wasn't as much of a question as it sounded.

"Since the week started. I just couldn't do it alone, but now that you're here, I think we can pull it off." The light started breaking through the small holes in the boarding on the windows, while the students and teacher slept on.

"A lot of things could go wrong, even if we make it there without any zombies. It's risky, kid, very risky." She was amazed, but not quite surprised to see a smirk on the girl's lips and a glint in her eye that Chava could only classify as mischievous glee.

"I know."

They were quiet for a moment, before breaking out into laughter, never mind the fact that today was a day of epic proportions, and that it was very likely not all would survive. The insanity that bubbled from their lips in unison wasn't as maniacal as it could have been, a very pleasant sound for the others to awaken to. Pulling out her pocket watch, Chava opened the elegant face of a Green Man, carved into silver, and watched the still ticking hands until a half a minute passed.

7:34:39 am.

As if hearing the ticking of that clock, Mr. Simmons and the kids began opening their eyes one by one; each of them holding the knowledge that today was a very important day. Chava nodded as her small soldiers all stood slowly before her, awaiting their orders; many of them shifted glances between her and Helga, and she realized that should a power struggle ever occur, it was more than seventy percent likely that it would be between the two of them. The look that little girl gave her, meeting her gaze dead on, a small, forced smirk on her lips, let the older woman know that the only thing Helga really had in mind was the survival of her friends.

In her new world, power didn't matter in the slightest.

"Alright, gather the supplies. We're going to head down to the bottom floor; from there we move to the garage. Helga, I want you and Tall Hair boy up in the front; Big Dude and Skinny Hick flank the sides, and Phoebe and Bowl Cut Kid cover the back. Helga, Bowl Cut, and Skinny take these," at this point, she handed one powerful assault rifle and one handgun out to her chosen three, "and you three will take these," here she offered the easier to aim automatic rifles, "and the rest of you will remain within the perimeter with Mr. Simmons. You will be armed, whether you want to be or not. If you don't like guns, grab a blunt object, something easy to use that won't weigh you down. I don't care if you are carrying provisions, you will be armed. And remember, stay as quiet as possible."

Ripping off the bottom hem of her dress, Helga quickly tied it around her waist to serve as a makeshift gun holster, before turning to look at her new commander. Chava nodded again, and Helga gave a curt head, shouldering her rifle and kicking open the door. Operating in semi-SWAT fashion that she saw in a movie once, the blonde moved down the hallway as Gerald and Chava flanked her. Almost immediately after leaving the classroom, she could hear retching; a quick glance over her right shoulder caught a glimpse of a very green redhead.

_That's right, Lila hasn't been out of the room since this started_, Helga thought, not even trying to stop the smirk from eating up her lips. It died, however, when a subtle shift to her left move abnormally; gone was Helga the Bully, replaced by Helga the Survivor. She was about ready to shoot at whatever it was in the shadows, but then thought better of it. If zombies were attracted to sound, the last thing she would want to do was fire a gun in a hallway that acted like a sound-funnel. It would be wiser to simply be aware of it, and should the thing slither out in order to attack, then they would aim to kill – err, _**re**_-kill.

Besides, they should conserve their ammunition.

Catching the corner of Gerald's eye, she looked to him with a smirk, but shook her head. Surprisingly, he understood.

By some stroke of unbelievable luck they made it down the stairs without incident, but as soon as they opened the cafeteria doors, Helga lost all hope of keeping everyone's sanity intact.

It was as if the entire school had gone into that one room, like a social gathering, a potluck for the undead. They stumbled around slowly, sometimes bumping into one another, sometimes the walls and doors. The poor retches were caught in a room they couldn't seem to escape. And none of them really noticed the entry of the little mismatched survivors; that is, until someone behind her – Helga would be willing to bet her life it was Lila – gasped. Then, almost as one, the horde stopped moving.

Feeling her heart sink, Helga could have cried when they all looked towards the door with the same attempt at fluidity. Rot and Rigamortis forced the movement to be jarred and stiff. More than one hundred unseeing eyes fogged over with death and something else landed on them in a vague recognition.

She had never seen anything more frightening in her entire life.

Before anyone had a chance to think, Helga shoved them back and slammed the doors shut. She frantically looked around for something to brace the doors with as her ears and mind filled with the snarling and hissing, groaning and growling coming from the other side of the door. Just like her dream, and the memory of the biting on her flesh resurfaced.

So much for shaving off five minutes from the trek.

"_Criminy, what do I do, what do I do . . ._" she whispered to herself as she held the doors in place while the creatures clawed and thumped on the door. Suddenly, the panic consuming her mind burned away, as Helga the Survivor made a triumphant return, giving the young girl orders. Turning behind her, she ripped the chair leg from Arnold's grasp and forced it between the handles, before yanking her handgun from her sash and shoved it in the boy's hands. He didn't have time to even register her movement until the blonde had started issuing orders again.

"Everybody follow me. We gotta move, and we gotta move now." Whipping her rifle onto her shoulder, Arnold was amazed at how . . . powerful she looked.

They ran down the hallways, and this time if anyone noticed something suspicious, they fired. The sound of zombies could be heard clamoring in the classrooms, and Chava could pick up the sounds of children sobbing as well. But she didn't tell Helga, because Helga could hear it too. Some were the kids within their group, but others . . .

Others were locked away within the separate rooms, with nothing to do but wait until the end came, and hope it was swift. After all, not everyone can be saved, including children.

_***.*.***_

Helga could see the door up ahead, the one that would either be their salvation or their doom. She really _was_ hoping for the former. There it was, in big, bold, glaring and beautiful letters

**Bus Garage**

**Faculty Only**

**No Admittance**

And she almost cried at how happy she was to be so close to that freedom, she could nearly taste it. Just as she reached the door, there was movement, much faster than she observed before, and had her reflexes been even a little slower, she would have been a dead girl.

She held the zombie at bay with the length of the rifle, struggling as the creature – she recognized him as one of the kindergarten teachers – came closer and closer to overpowering her, his teeth biting at her flesh. He was uncomfortably close to her neck, and Helga nearly threw up from the overpowering _**stench**_ that he exuded. He pushed down on her a little bit more, and her feet started slipping back.

"Helga!" Arnold called from the door as Harold, Sid, and Gerald forced it open with their shoulders; of course it would be locked, why wouldn't it be?

"Get going Football Head! It's under control!" Helga shouted as Chava was the first through the door after the boys, and the rest of the kids rushed after her. Before Arnold could take one step in Helga's direction to help her, he was stopped in amazement of her movements.

Directly following her orders, she let her gun fall back just barely, and when the zombie came forward with it, she forced it back up under his jaw. As he stumbled back, she used the butt of the rifle as a baton, and knocked him upside his temple. Swiftly she replaced the weapon onto her shoulder and shot him through the eye. Even as he fell she was turning her back to him and, grabbing Arnold's wrist, was beyond the door into the bus garage.

Slamming the door shut, she frantically looked around for anything that could be used to barricade the entrance, but came up empty.

"Do you have a problem following orders, Arnoldo, or is it just mine you ignore?" she snapped, but didn't bother to give him time to respond before she had him once again by the hand and was leading him to the closest bus, where the rest of the class had gathered. Chava and Mr. Simmons were arguing about something, and Arnold noticed that the older woman had an open tool box next to her on the floor by the driver's seat, and a screwdriver jammed into the ignition.

"Why do you mean you can't get it to start?" Simmons wailed frantically, then ordered all the kids off the bus.

"I can hotwire a bus, not _**hot**_wire a bus." She shot back, as Helga forced her way up the steps and against the driver's seat.

"Can you drive this thing?" she asked, her scowl once again at home on her face.

"Yeah I can drive it, but that won't matter if I can't get it to start." Chava answered, a little less hotheaded now that she was talking to a ten year old, rather than a thirty-something year old who talked down to _her_.

"Then move." Everyone was taken aback by the sudden tone Helga took, and it was shock alone that had Chava stepping out of the seat as the little girl took the screwdriver out of the ignition and wedged it into the panel below it.

After a little wiggling, the cover came free, exposing the wires inside. Next, she riffled through the toolkit before finding a pair of dikes. Yanking out four wires, she stripped the brownish red ones before twisting them together, then took the two bright red ones and gently, lightly touched them. The engine sparked, before dying. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, this time the engine kicked over and stayed alive. Digging through the kit one more time while keeping the wires apart, she pulled out some black electrical tape, covering the ends of the live wires before taking the screwdriver and forced it into back of the steering column. Giving it a good tug, she smiled as the lock on the wheel was disabled and she could turn it freely.

Arnold, and the rest of the class, could only watch with awe as their friend, rifle slung over her shoulder, hotwired the school bus.

"Where in the Hell does a ten year old learn how to hotwire a car?" Chava asked as she sank back into the now vacated driver's seat. Helga smirked as she leaned against the dashboard, watching Curly with interest as he stayed outside the bus while all the other students climbed on.

"Was I really the only one prepared for a zombie apocalypse?" she answered, and Chava laughed as Curly pulled a bottle of Yoo-hoo from his pocket, and the bus grew quiet. With his maniacal smirk and a glint in his eye, he lifted it and approached the bumper.

"I hereby christen this zombie fighting school bus Rita, Queen of the City!" he declared in his best regal voice as he broke the bottle over the bus. They all watched as he and Helga shared a look, and suddenly he was at the large bus doors, running them open while shouting freedom. Helga slapped her forehead, but still didn't fight the hope rising in her chest when they revealed an empty street. For once, fate hadn't laughed in her face.

Curly laughed all the way back to the bus, jumping up the steps as Chava winched the doors shut and shifted from neutral into drive. The bus took a moment to warm up, which Rhonda Wellington Lloyd certainly decided to capitalize on when she cornered Curly in the seat behind Chava.

"How in the _**world**_ did you get your crazy little fingers on a bottle of Yoo-hoo?" she challenged, and his face fell blank as the rest of his classmates looked at him in equal curiosity. The bus was quite for a moment, before he shrugged with what was quickly becoming his signature expression.

"Found it." That would just have to be good enough for the Princess of P.S. 118. And surprisingly, it was. As they rolled out of the garage and into a possible future, Chava pulled down the radio and smiled.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, put up the windows and sit down, we're going to be making a few stops before we gas up."

Helga could only shrug as a few of her classmates looked at her in concern.

_**~O~**_

In life, Chava's husband had been a mechanic by trade, a metal worker by hobby, and a cheapskate in every sense of the word. In an effort to save money, he purchased a warehouse a short distance from the City Center, where he mixed business and pleasure. It was in essence a large room with a few lifts for cars, and nearly every tool for nearly every fix on one side; the other was home to a couple of blow torches, several kinds of metal in piles, and three or four unfinished projects. There was a bathroom in the back, and a break room/office on the right that served as a place of down time for his four employees and himself. There weren't very many windows, and only two doors: the front and the garage.

This was where Chava had taken them. After scouring and securing the building, she had shooed them all into the break room and then disappeared into the shop. They could hear the sound of a blowtorch, and some metal being cut, but none dared to step outside. So instead they huddled together and turned on the TV, but after several minutes and flipping by each channel twice, turned it off. Emergency Broadcast signals on every single one. Helga stood from the couch, eyeing the picture frames on the wall, smiling at the photos. A man and woman at an obviously Jewish wedding, smiling and happy and don't think she missed the bump on the woman's stomach. The next one, the same man and woman, maybe a few years earlier, sitting at a romantic table, the sign Chez Paris in the background. And the last one she could handle, the woman bent over and hugging a little girl from behind; mother and daughter sharing the same brown hair, the same brown eyes, and the same full teeth smile.

It was strange, observing the life of the woman she trusted with her life, who she barely even knew. Everything now, it seemed, was just strange.

Also wandering about the room, Curly had stumbled upon what had to be the coolest thing he had ever seen in his young life. Blowing the accumulating dust off the case and picking up a stack next to it, he flipped around before finding a goldmine. His crazy smirk returned as he set down his choice, moved the needle, and let the magic happen.

Rhonda had nearly jumped out of her skin – designer sweater included – when Roll Over Beethoven suddenly shot through the speakers, the magnificent sounds of John, Paul, George and Ringo flooding their senses. Curly was dancing around with a broom he found in a corner, and soon, despite their better judgment, most of his classmates joined him, self preservation be damned. Helga watched with a small smile, not her usual scowl or smirk, at the image of her friends being kids again. They had been forced to grow up far too quickly, so this was a good distraction to keep them sane. She made a mental note to thank Curly later on, the slowly moved away from the wall and out the door.

Arnold watched her go, but didn't follow.

Chava looked up at the sound of the door closing; she had heard the music coming from the office and was surprised to see someone willingly leave that to join her. Brown met blue, and her surprise was no longer as great as it was before. Quietly the little girl moved towards her, eying the great metal beast that was Rita. The back half of the windows had steel plates welded over them, and the large studded tires were out.

"Why aren't you in there with your friends? You do realize you're only ten, and it's not healthy to go straight from little girl to adult." She chided, and Helga smirked softly, running her hand along the metal body of what will be their savior. Chava had the thought that this little girl was more grown up then she let on – and the notion didn't leave as quickly as she would have hoped.

"Are you referring to my little girl innocence? Sister, this new world strips all that away, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of the innocence carried over from the world before. Layer by layer we are forced to leave it behind, and adapt; I've just lost more of it then they have. Let them have their fun and moments of peace. I can't rest until I know we're more than seventy percent safe." That smirk didn't leave her lips, and Chava wasn't so sure she was looking at a fourth grader anymore.

"You sure you aren't thirty?" the older woman asked with a light tone, and Helga finally let that smirk slide into a smile.

"Need any help? I've never worked most of these tools, but I'm a fast learner, and have seen every good zombie movie ever made. And a few not so decent ones that I won't own up to." Catching her meaning, Chava nodded as the pair went over renovation plans. Helga didn't ask who the shot she first heard when they scoured the building was for; and Chava didn't tell her. But the little girl had an idea, just like her older companion had a theory on why Helga was so grown up.

And Helga didn't tell her about killing her father's reanimated corpse, nor about one of the zombies she saw, but couldn't kill just outside the bus garage when she was attacked. From the corner of her eye she saw her, Dr. Bliss, flesh rotten and eyes opaque, stumbling towards the fray. Despite her motto of kill them, they're already dead, and break bonds if need be, Helga knew she wouldn't be able to shoot the woman who had become a mother of sorts to her over the past few months. She couldn't kill her, and that made Helga feel weak and powerless.

Suddenly, Helga had another thought, one that she wasn't sure was a welcomed distraction from her shrink or not:

_Why were there no zombies on the road?_

_**~O~**_

It was about midday when Rita rolled out of the shop, loaded down with food, ammunition, tool, extra gas tanks, and survivors. All the side windows and the back emergency door had steel welded over them, and the main doors had the glass knocked out and replaced, also with steel. The large studded snow tires had been modified with spikes, which Helga joked at the time that they gave a school bus cleats. After much debate, the two women had decided to leave the side mirrors, although they had been moved higher up, so a zombie would have to be six foot plus in order to use them to their advantage. Chava's husband had built a scoop modeled after snow plows, which he had intended to attach to his truck; that had been bonded to the front of the bus.

All in all, the finished product was one badass looking tank, for a school bus, that is.

After a few wrong turns on the empty streets, the group finally came upon the pump station. Chava and Helga, along with Rhonda, Gerald, Harold, Arnold and Torvald climbed out of the bus while Curly climbed onto the roof as a guard and the rest stayed inside. The first thing the small party did was fuel up the bus, which while it took a good fifteen minutes, went by without a hitch. It was when they had moved to fill all the small gallon tanks that trouble came in the form of a little white open bed Toyota.

Like a scene from a movie about terrorists, they road up, the guys in the bed training their machine guns on the kids, before coming to a violent halt. They jumped out, shouting things all at once while pointing their guns at everyone.

"Get away from the tank!"

"Away from the gas or I'll shoot you!"

"Bitch! Away from the tank!"

Some of the kids stepped back, but Chava just kept siphoning the gas out of the large tank. Helga watched them with interest, her rifle folded over her arms carefully. Arnold could see the hostility gathering in her shoulders, and stepped forward to back her up.

"Hey guys, there's plenty of -" almost immediately all the guns were pointed at him, and he could do nothing but hold up his hands in a friendly manor.

"Shut up! All the gas stations in the city are down! This is the only place with fuel, and it's ours! Bitch! Back away from the goddamn tank!" Helga's arm twitched as Chava ignored him. She was almost done, and she'd be damned if this little punks scared her off. Guns probably weren't even loaded. A shot to her foot startled her, and she finally looked up to see one big dude, out of the truck and in front of Helga, his gun pointed at her and a smirk on his face.

"That's right bitch. Now step away from the tank. You know, now that I think about it, we'll take your ride, too." Helga lifted her face look at the man, and he grinned in a way she thought he assumed was badass.

"I don't think so bucko." She snapped, as his smirk soured.

"What are you gonna do to stop us honey. Scream?" his voice was dripping with sarcasm, and it just filled the blonde little girl with _**so much anger**_ that she –

She did just what he suggested.

Opening her mouth, she let loose a scream so loud and high pitch that they could all hear the blood pounding in their ears in an effort to lessen it. Trying to block out the sound, the guy drop his gun to cover his ears; that was when Rhonda, also filled with an indignant rage, rushed forward to kick him between the legs. That of course surprised Helga into silence, and with the assault momentarily halted, the guy grabbed Rhonda by the upper arms and squeezed. He lifted her off the ground, about ready to do something as the pain throbbed in his crouch.

He didn't get far, though.

A shot rang through the air, and the guy looked up to the top of the school bus, and found Curly sitting cross-legged with a rifle on his shoulder, glasses pushed up as he aimed. Then, the man let go of Rhonda, and fell backwards, a small red spot on his chest growing larger by the second. His comrades looked on, shocked that a kid could have that kind of aim. For a long time, no one moved.

"Boys, put these in the compartments." Chava ordered softly, handing each boy two gas cans, and one by one they stocked up on fuel. When the last one was in, she slammed shut the door, and turned to Helga and Rhonda who were still staring down the other group. Suddenly, the big guy started moaning, and shifted from side to side. Helga pushed Rhonda back towards the bus, before stepping over the man, and shooting him in the head. All the men jumped at the sound, and watched with blank eyes as the little girl looked at them with adult eyes.

"There, we're done here, and there's still plenty of gas. Good luck guys, and I hope we see you around sometime." Wishing them a farewell, Helga turned and began her own trek back towards the bus. On her way, she looked over her shoulder with a passive, sober expression.

"Sorry about your friend."

With that, the bus doors shut, and the tank full of students took off down the road, Curly laughing like a maniac as he slid back down through the hatch.

HA


	6. Keys to the City, Hands of the Dead

_**Disclaimer: . . . Hello. Hey! Arnold doesn't belong to me. Sorry to disappoint. Listen to Gould . . . Goodbye.**_

HA

The bus shook and rattled as it moved over the pothole riddled streets. A few of the kids spoke quietly among themselves, but for the most part they were quiet. Phoebe and Nadine were sitting next to Rhonda; the adrenaline had worn off and she was shaking, arms starting to bruise. Gerald and Sid were behind them, reassuring the rich man's daughter over and over again that what she did was pretty awesome, that they didn't know she had it in her.

Everyone watched as her eyes followed Curly when he slid in through the roof hatch and slipped into the seat next to Helga.

Only Arnold's eyes stayed with them.

"Nice shot Gammelthorpe." The blonde acknowledged, and he nodded in return, looking over his shoulder to smile at Rhonda. Much to his surprise, she smiled back. His stomach filled with so many fluttering butterflies that he could have sworn he would take off from the seat; it was Helga's quiet laugh as she leaned forward to talk to Chava the brought him back to reality. Shifting forward as well, he figured whatever the two were going to talk about would be worth knowing.

"Report."

"We now know that a bite or scratch from the creatures is not the only way to become infected; it's as simple as death." Helga began as she stood and leaned against the dashboard, cradling her rifle in the same way as at the pump station. Curly moved up to stand beside the driver's seat, continuing where his blonde comrade had left off.

"This makes things infinitely more difficult in the long run – precautions will have to be taken, shooting the dead and infected in the head; burying the lost will be useless, our best bet will be to simply burn the bodies if we have the chance." Slipping off his glasses, Curly made a motion of cleaning them with his shirt as Helga nodded to his logic.

"We'll need a way to identify our bodies should bad come to worse. A ring, a pendant, something that lets the others know." Chava smiled, kicking a box out from by her foot towards the young girl.

"Already covered. I made these dog tags before I got started on Rita. Kid, you and Crazy pass them out; I'm sure you can figure out who's who. Get back up here when you're done." Helga smirked, tossing a handful of the chained tags at Curly. He bobbed his head as if he heard music, walking down the aisle and handing out the ones he had.

"Alright geek baits, listen up. When you get your dog tag, I want you to put it on and never take it off, ever. You got that?" the little girl threatened, giving a once over of each dog tag in her hand before tossing it to someone. Arnold caught his, keeping eye contact with Helga until she passed him, before looking down at his new accessory.

On one side was stamped unevenly, **P.S. 118**; on the flip side, also unevenly, was his nickname and now codename: **FOOTBALL HEAD**. Well doesn't that figure.

"Gee Helga, why do we gotta wear these?" Stinky asked as he fingered his, now codename **SKINNY**.

"Yeah, and why 24/7?" Sid added as Curly sauntered over to him and placed his dog tags around his neck like it was a lei before skipping over to Helga and doing the same thing.

"So that we can identify you body when you die."

The bus grew quiet as Helga read her own name, **KID**, and smirked. Arnold watched her as he slid the chain over his neck, before getting her attention.

"Geez Helga, do you have to be so blunt all the time?" Turning to look at him sharply, Arnold couldn't remember the last time those eyes had been so harsh.

"Blunt? Blunt? Criminy Football Head, the dead have risen and are eating the living. My self-preservation won't let us beat around the bush till it catches on fire; we can't afford anything but blunt."

"Helga." Curly's hand shot through her rage, catching her on the shoulder and motioning towards the front of the bus. She acknowledged what he meant, and moved with him back to Chava, leaving Arnold speechless in his seat.

"Hey Kid, we're gonna make one more stop before we leave the city; if we're going north you kids are going to need warmer clothes than shorts and jumpers. But we have to be on our guard, there's something up – the population of this city over six hundred thousand," Chava trailed off as her eyes scanned the deserted streets. Buildings on fire, abandoned cars and a few dead bodies, but nothing moved. Helga understood.

"So where are all the zombies."

"Exactly. Where are all the zombies indeed. Something's not right here; we haven't come across a single one since leaving the shop."

The school bus pulled off the road and onto the sidewalk, parking as close to the doors of the shop as possible. Chava left the engine running, herself still at the wheel, as she winched the doors open.

"I'll stay here and keep the engine hot. You have fifteen minutes – you're not on this bus, I'm leaving you behind." Her warning was heard.

As soon as she stepped off the bus, Rhonda's eyes were drawn to the sign hanging above their heads. Her brown orbs narrowed considerably as Nadine moved to stand next to her.

"_Kneller's Thrift Shop_? You _**must**_ be joking! Why didn't we go someplace normal like the mall?" she moaned as the rest of the kids filtered off the bus. Mr. Simmons looked on nervously, but said nothing as Chava stood and leaned out the door, a smirk etched on her aged face.

"Because Princess, every other survivor out there will head for the mall as well, and if there's one thing I learned, it's that groups kill you faster than zombies." She shot out, and Gerald looked up to her, his arm around Phoebe tighter than it would have been under normal circumstances.

"But you joined our group." He pointed out, and all who had been looking at her noticed the look she shot Helga, and the grin the blonde girl replied with.

"That was just well-placed blackmail."

And then the doors were shut.

All the other kids turned to Helga, who in their minds had been designated second in command – Helga who was busy looking across the street at the liquor store. There was an annoyingly unfortunate nagging voice behind her ear, telling her she needed to go check it out.

"What did she mean by blackmail, Helga?" Sheena asked quietly, and Helga smirked as she calculated how much time she would have.

"Just that she needed a little persuasion in order to help us. Simmons, I want you to take them into the store and grab some close – we'll all need warm pants and coats, nothing overly baggy. Maybe sweaters or turtle necks. One or two pairs of everything for everyone. Gammelthorpe, I need you to assign a group to clear the building and stand guard – make sure none of these rejects shoot themselves in the foot. Phoebs, I need a favor."

Curly saluted her before grabbing Torvald, Stinky, Sid, and Gerald, and entering the store. A few shots rang out, causing the rest of the kids outside to jump, before the crazy third in command poked his head out and invited them inside. Mr. Simmons looked from Helga to Curly in shock, but he was ignored as Sheena took his hand and led him in, along with the rest of the class.

"Phoebe, you know what size I wear, right?" the blonde asked her friend, and the small Asian nodded.

"I need you to grab me some clothes too; I have a hunch I'm going to act on." Discreetly Phoebe looked past Helga's shoulder, and spotted the liquor store. Understanding dawned on her as she nodded again, turning on her heel and following her friends into the store. Slipping the rifle from her shoulder and into her waiting hands, she jogged across the street, unaware of the form that followed her moments later.

Closing her eyes, she released a shaky breath as she opened the door and wandered inside, walking as quietly as possible, gun at the ready. Keeping one eye always on the mirrors strategically placed, she walked down each aisle until she heard the telltale sign of flesh being devoured. Heart beating erratically, she slowly inched around a wine end cap, and felt her resolve shake at the sight of a long purple dress.

"Miriam." It wasn't a question. Her glasses were gone, as was one of her shoes. Her blonde hair was no longer blonde, matted to her head and some of it had been pulled out. Helga couldn't see all of her mother's face, and for that she was grateful – it was enough to see her bloodied fingernails and pale, rotting flesh.

Her mom didn't turn to her at the sound of her name, just keep right on feasting on the skin of some poor, stupid looter that had the misfortune of choosing her LQ.

"Miriam . . . Mom, it's too bad we were never really much of a family. You loved Olga too much, and I didn't love you enough I think." Helga whispered, almost in tears for the first time since the end of the world. With her dad it was different, he had been far away, not only could she barely see him but it was a life and death kind of thing. If she hadn't killed him, the chances of infiltration would have been higher, because he could have gotten into the building.

But she had been actively seeking out Miriam, and that was harder to explain away.

"I forgive you for not being a better mother, for not being there when I needed you most." Her cheeks were wet now, but Helga had grown so much in the last few days, she didn't bother wiping them away.

"And I'm sorry for not being a better daughter."

Miriam had finally noticed that there was another creature in the room, and turned to face her daughter. With a snarl, she whipped around and charged for the younger, smaller Pataki. Helga just grimaced as she raised the rifle.

"I love you mom."

A shot.

Helga looked down at the large hole she left in her mother's head, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks as she let her actions sink in. Letting her head drop and shoulders slump, Helga just wanted to stay within her dark world of silence for longer than what was probably necessary, but a hand touched her shoulder and she jumped with a small scream.

"What in the – _**ARNOLD**_? What are you doing Football Head? You should be over in the thrift shop grabbing clothes." she interrogated, placing her free hand on her chest in a vain effort to slow her heart. The boy shrugged, before trying his best to smile and waved a hand over his person.

"Well, I figured I'm good for clothes, seeing as I'm not wearing shorts or a jumper. Besides, I wanted to see where you were going. We really shouldn't be out alone Helga." He chided softly while letting one hand play absentmindedly with his undershirt. His companion couldn't help but smile softly at his boyish charm, especially when he didn't realize he had it.

"You'll still need a coat, it can get cold up north. Besides, I can take care of myself; but you're right I suppose, we shouldn't be out alone. Come on, let's get back to the others." She was startled when he touched her bare arm, but as she turned to look at him, found he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"What were you doing over here anyways?" he asked softly, taking in the broken bottles, and the smell of rot and alcohol. Helga looked over her shoulder at the form of her mother, and Arnold followed her gaze.

"Making an apology that was long overdue." The thought alone made her voice rough with emotion, and she wiped away at her eyes as Arnold rubbed her arm with what he hoped was comfort. She smiled, and the two headed for the door.

That was when they heard the scream.

_***.*.***_

Sheena had abandoned her usual too-big flower shirt in favor of a brown long-sleeved shirt and a green coat. She sat beside Robert, holding the small handgun as if it were the heaviest thing in the world. And to her, it was – she, who abhorred violence and who the sight of blood made sick, would have to learn to shoot this weapon. Learn how to take the life of another. Learn how to kill.

She snuck a glance at Eugene, who had just tripped over his sandals and crashed into a clothing rack. It was times like this that she wished she could have Helga's courage or Phoebe and Rhonda's luck. Curly had saved Rhonda, shot her assailant dead, and Phoebe and Gerald were already attracted to one another before the whole zombie thing. And Helga, well, Helga was too busy keeping them all alive to pursue romance – but that didn't mean the others didn't know about it.

Sheena was confident that every girl in their class knew of the bully's crush on the hero, and she was jealous of that, too. Even in her fear of showing the boy her affections, Helga still had the ability to help and even protect him in other ways. Sheena was too much of a chicken to do even that. She would just be Eugene's friend like a coward, while he stood by none the wiser. Well, he may have some idea now, after Rhonda did the marriage predictor two weeks ago.

Suddenly Robert shouted, and Sheena turned to look at him, only to see a zombie latched onto her classmate's arm. Before anyone had time to react, the class pacifist lifted the gun and shot three or four times into the zombie's head , shoulder, and arm. Her breath came out in short, uneven, sharp rasps, her arms shaking as she kept her weapon aimed. Robert was still crying out in pain as Phoebe tried to stem the blood flow from the wound; Sheena was stilled armed and dangerous as she shook and stared off into nothing. The rest of the class looked on in shock. Mr. Simmons fainted.

At that moment, Helga and Arnold entered, and when Curly walked over to tell them what had happened, Helga rubbed her eyes. Breaking away from the boys, Helga held back her rifle as she approached Phoebe and Robert, her eyes softening as she sat next to them. Eugene had also come over, but didn't say anything to Sheena; he didn't touch her either.

It was Helga who gently took the small gun from the girl's hands, and turned to their infected friend. Lila had revived their teacher, and he quickly got to his feet when he read Helga's body language.

"Bobby, I'm sorry, but I think you know what I have to do." She said calmly, and both Mr. Simmons and Arnold jumped forward to defend their friend and condemn Helga. Simmons got there first.

"Helga Geraldine Pataki don't you dare!" he began, but his name falling quietly from Curly's lips made him stop short. Helga kept Robert's eyes locked with hers, trying to keep him calm.

"I know Helga." He said just as softly, and Helga nodded, trying her hardest to look as soft and far from menacing as she could. She watched as Robert handed Phoebe his dog tags, and closed his eyes with the smaller girl backed away. Helga stood, taking a breath to brace herself.

"Just take a breath and think of heaven."

Another shot.

Arnold watched helplessly as the blonde boy's body slumped, and Helga's shoulders dropped with the weight of what she had done. She let one pained whimper out, before wiping her face again and accepting the dog tags Phoebe offered weakly. Arnold took a step towards her, his shock overwhelming as his building frustration over the last week found a focus.

"What did you _**do**_ Helga?" he snapped, his voice cracking with emotion as Phoebe placed an old fur coat over their friend's dead body. Both girls stiffened at his outrage, but Helga composed herself before turning to her aggressor.

"I did what was needed. He was bitten, and in less than fifteen minutes would have turned. Bobby knew this; he accepted it." She held the tags close to her, covering them completely with her pale hands.

"You _**killed**_ him!" Arnold exploded, and Helga's fists tightened as her control slipped.

"You know Football Head, you've been crying so much recently about how I've been killing people, but you like to forget that they were either already zombies or infected. A bite or scratch by one of these things is a death sentence. I'm doing what I have to, to make sure everyone survives."

"Bobby didn't survive! He hadn't even turned yet and you shot him! What if there was a cure! A way to -" a small droplet of blood peeked through Helga's fingers, but no one noticed.

"There is _**no**_ _**cure**_ Arnold! He would have turned and come after each and every one of us and I can't let that happen. I have every intention of surviving this for the long run, am doing my best to make sure we _**all**_ do, but there are some things we can't control. Am I the only one prepared to face the decisions and consequences?" she looked around the room, and only a few people had the guts to meet her gaze, and unfortunately it was all the kids she had expected.

"I see. Well, here's your choice: go with me and at least try to see things my way, or stay here. I really don't want to leave anyone behind, but if it keeps me alive in the future I'll do what I have to."

It was an incredibly honest thing to say, and with it Helga turned away from Arnold and grabbed the first pair of pants and sweater in her size, before stepping behind a rack to strip. When she emerged less than a minute later, the class found her in a simple black turtle neck and a pair of jeans. Prying the dog tags from her hand and shoving them in her pocket, she winced as she snagged a coat, and they all made their way back to the bus. With a melancholy sigh, she pulled her pink bow from her hair and tried it around her palm to stop the bleeding. If there were any zombies in the area, they would smell the blood at come running, making her a risk to the group.

She couldn't be sure if she was pleased or not, but everyone had made the decision to follow her. They all slowly made their way outside, and one at a time climbed up the steps into the waiting bus, which Chava had kept hot and running the whole time - she was quick to stifle out a cigarette. Laughter was heard from up ahead, and Helga lifted her head to see Chava lifting an intrigued eyebrow at Curly's choice of clothing.

"What? The world is now an ugly place, so I figured I should dress my best."

His best being one of the ugliest Christmas sweaters the woman had ever seen in her life. Period. She laughed again and shoved him along, noting the sad faces of the kids, and the silence that enveloped the bus like a plague. Helga, the last of the group to enter the bus, stopped on the steps, listening as the doors closed behind her. Chava met her eyes; she heard the screams, the shots, and noticed their group was short a head. The blonde girl nodded to the unasked question, before sitting behind the driver's seat next to Curly.

Arnold watched her from three rows back, as she put her head in one hand, the other reaching into her pocket and pulling out the dog tags. She studied them, flipping it over and over as the words embedded themselves in her mind. She would be forever haunted by what they said, and what they represented.

**SILENT BOB: P.S. 118**

_**~O~**_

It was the sudden stop and the "Oh _Shit_," that awoke Helga from her slight doze. Moving to stand on shaky, half asleep legs she stumbled up to the dashboard, her mind mimicking Chava's bold and rather accurate words.

There, at the bottle neck that took the road they were on out of the city and essentially north, was a large group, mob, flock, _gaggle_ of zombies. A few jeeps were overturned and a tank or two were crashed halfway into surrounding buildings. A couple fires burned, but they were rather self-contained, cackling with delight as they charred all they touched. The undead were in the middle of the road and beyond, feasting on the largest pile of fresh meat Helga had seen in a long time. Most had military uniforms, but a few were garbed in civilian wear.

The screams had long since died down, leaving nothing but the sounds of dead lips smacking and rotten teeth mashing; as embarrassed and ashamed as she was to think it, but the sight made Helga hungry.

By this time Curly had also joined them, and even he could think of nothing to say about the sight, just held his rifle a little bit tighter to his chest.

_Criminy._

"At least we know why the streets were empty." Helga said quietly, and Curly laughed, waking many of the others who had fallen asleep in the seats. A few of the girls who could see through the windshield cried out, but were shushed by the others. Helga looked down at her commander, and watched with interest as she lit another cigarette, her eyes flashing with thought.

"How do we proceed?" it was Curly that asked, and while he kept his face towards the horde, his eyes moved to the women.

"Shooting at them is pointless, there are too many of them and we need to conserve our ammo." Helga offered, and Chava agreed. Suddenly, a smirk grew out from the white cancer stick between her lips, and she shifted gears.

"You kids might want to hold on. This might get bumpy." She warned, and only Helga and Curly heeded her warning, jumping into the closest seat. Rita charged the mob, running over as many of the dead as she could while plowing through. Chava cackled insanely as she bounced, shifting gears until she reached top speed. Some of the kids fell out of the seats and into the aisle, some of them calling out and some of the finding it in them to laugh.

"L'Chaim!" Chava called out after a particularly large speed bump, and Harold howled with laughter as he flew out of his seat, Patty landing awkwardly on top of him. The snarls and growls outside the body, amplified by the darkness the steel plates on the windows, echoed around the cavity of the bus viciously. The smell of death permeated the metal barriers when the dead couldn't, though, and Helga could hear the distinct sounds of Harold, Lila and Lorenzo retching behind her.

They managed to plow through the mass with relative ease, and as soon as the turbulence ceased, a cheer went up throughout the bus. Relief flooded like a tidal wave as everyone on board realized that they had did it, they were finally out of the city. The congratulated each other, happy at the thought of finally being free.

Helga stood, flanked by Chava in the driver's seat and Curly on the steps, watching the road rise up to meet them. Her arms were crossed in thought, Bobby's tags hanging from one of her hands with her rifle slung over her shoulder; Curly held onto the dashboard to steady himself, rifle also across his back. They were silent, not joining in the joy of their fellow survivors.

"I'm sorry Pataki." Curly said suddenly, and the blonde turned to look at him sharply as Chava blew smoke rings beside her.

"It's my fault – I should have been more thorough when we cleared the building. It's my fault Bobby's dead." His voice thick with remorse, the young man refused to look at her, and Helga was above forcing him.

"It's equally my fault – I should have been there helping you, rather than pursuing my own personal agenda. At this point, though, it doesn't matter who's to blame. He's still dead; he's dead and we're not. Call me callous, but that's one less mouth to fed and hide to protect." This time it was she who wouldn't face either of them, and Curly chuckled darkly, moving to cross his arms as the ride became smoother.

"That is callous," her nearly violent side glare had him chuckling again, "but I understand your point. Besides, I knew not all of us would make it out alive, and I have a feeling, Pataki, that you were thinking the same thing." She nodded, tightening her already white grip on the chain in her hand.

"No one should have died today, but all things considered, we were stupidly lucky. Tomorrow is another story entirely; who's to say we don't lose half if not more of us?"

"You don't think we're safe?"

Both Helga and Curly spun around, finding Arnold standing behind them, steadying himself by holding onto the front seats. He was looking Helga dead on, and Curly turned to her suddenly, smirking as if he too expected an answer.

"Football Head, flesh eating zombies inhabit the Earth; there is no such thing as safe." Her eyes spoke volumes over her words. Even Arnold, who was probably one of the densest boys in the class, understood what she meant. With a silent nod, he turned and walked back to his seat, joining Gerald and Sid's conversation about who would be more dangerous, Zombie Wolverine or Zombie Captain America. Helga smiled brokenly, before she and Curly turned back to the windshield, going over plans with Chava – albeit quieter this time.

After all, escaping Hillwood was just the first step of survival.

Their problems were only just beginning.

HA


	7. Of a Northern Journey

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own Hey! Arnold, isn't that a disappointment? Oh well. I hope I haven't managed to scare off my readers with this content. By the way, is anyone else getting pissed at the constant barrage of ads we can't skip through on this site, or is it just me? Have a nice day –**_

HA

The sun had disappeared over the horizon half an hour earlier, the kids were whining about how hungry they were, the bus's heater would spot in and out, and Chava was tired of staring at empty road. With a heavy sigh, she pulled off onto the side of the road, letting the engine die and causing the students to stop midsentence and look to her. Helga stood from her seat behind the driver, and nodded to Phoebe who scurried to the back to retrieve a bag.

"Why'd ya stop Miss Chava?" Stinky asked, his thick southern drawl butchering her name. She just smiled while double checking the door.

"I stopped, Skinny, because I am just as hungry and tired as you kids are. Now's as good a time as any to have our rationed dinner, and catch a few zees." Scratching the back of her neck, Chava explained half-heartedly her reasoning as she looked to Phoebe, who was now handing out one cheese and bread concoction to everyone. When she reached their leader, the brown haired woman looked at it with curiosity, but took it nonetheless.

"What's this?"

"Cheese Zombie." Helga offered while taking a good bite out of hers. Chava deadpanned for a minute, before laughing at the absurdity of such a name for an elementary school lunch. The meal was relatively quiet, save for the small outbursts of laughter from Chava at the thought of eat a cheese zombie during a zombie apocalypse. She had to admit, though, they were good – must've been the fake cheese and unhealthy bread.

Ten minutes later and even the slowest of eaters were done. A few whined quietly about still being hungry, but a shameful look from Helga silenced them. Pulling out her pocket watch, Chava popped it open to check the time, grimacing when she found she'd been driving longer than she'd first thought. She always hated driving, always made Isaac do it when they had to go anywhere – like her mother's.

"Alright kiddos – find a place and hunker down for the night. I'm not your babysitter, so stay up if you like, just be quiet because I want to sleep. Kid, Crazy, front of the bus." Only a few students weren't surprised when Helga and Curly moved forward to conference with Chava as the rest of them found a seat and tried to get as comfortable as possible.

"We'll be keeping watch in shifts of a few hours – I want it just you two, until I can get some of the others trained up to par with your level. Now, if you feel like you're starting to get drowsy, don't chance it, get back into the bus and have the next person go. I don't want anything compromised because your eyelids got heavy but you thought you were fine. Now you two decided who goes first, I'm beat." And with that, Chava slid back into the driver's seat, put her hat over her eyes, and within minutes her breathing was starting to even out.

Helga and Curly looked at each other, before smirking.

"Not it!"

Well that hadn't worked. Their smirks turned into more good-natured grins as they held out their fists, shaking them three times in the age-old problem solver.

"Rock Paper Scissors."

Scissors cuts paper. Helga grinned in triumph as Curly slumped in defeat, before shouldering his rifle and moving to the first roof hatch. Hiking up a leg, he stepped onto one seat, then the back leather, heaving himself through the opening. Helga held back a laugh as she slid into a nearby seat, mimicking the others with their legs draped over the edge and their coats for blankets. It grew quiet fast, despite the excitement of the day – or maybe because of it. Phoebe soon crawled into the seat with her blonde best friend, and Helga gladly let her in, repositioning so both girls were covered and comfortable.

They listened as the lives in the bus moved, and settled, and moved again.

Then they heard someone shuffle into the seat next to them and up through the roof hatch.

In the darkness, Helga smiled.

_**~O~**_

Not only was it dark sitting on top of the bus, but it was also cold. Colder than anything Thaddeus Curly Gammelthorpe had felt in a long, long time. Even when he and his sister had camped out on their grandparents' farm and his Grandma Rosie insisted they sleep outside in the apple grove did he feel this cold. But this cold was different, this was the cold associated with death – even he knew that.

It wasn't the dead he was keeping watch for, though, it was something far worse.

It was the living.

The thump of a body on the metal roof and a not so hushed _psst_ had him not only jumping slightly out of his skin, but glad Helga wasn't there to chide him about losing his touch. Gripping his rifle closer this his chest, the Gammelthorpe turned and was pleasantly surprised when he found the wide eyes of a girl staring back almost boldly.

"My love! What are you doing up here? You should be sleeping." He cooed like a regular crooner as he shouldered his rifle and took her hand, helping her to slide up. She wiggled on her stomach, before spinning on the cool surface and looking at him evenly.

"I was hoping I could keep you company for a while." They shared a smile, and she rubbed her hands together to fight off the chill. They were quiet for a few minutes, before she sent him a sideways glance and a soft smile she shows no one.

"I wanted to thank you, for shooting that man and saving my life." He flashed his most charming, sincere smile, fidgeting to fight the need to touch her.

"How are your arms?" he asked, rather than spouting the monologue swimming around in his head. Rhonda ran her palms over the bruises hidden beneath her shirt, wincing with the slight pressure.

"I'll live."

They returned to silence, listening to the new world function in the night. A rustle off to their right started in the bushes, and the two kids stiffened as one of the dead stumbled out, moaning quietly. Holding their breath, she was amazed that Curly didn't take aim of the poor creature, just watched it wander around in the dark. It didn't acknowledge the bus, and by some unseen force missed it completely; it disappeared down the road shortly after it appeared.

"Why didn't you shoot it?" Rhonda asked quietly, noticed how his eyes stayed on the horizon, even long after the zombie vanished.

"Out here, the dead don't concern me half as much as the living. Besides, not only do we need to conserve our ammo, but a gunshot could draw more trouble to use rather than get us out of it."

Against her will, tears started trailing down her cheeks. They were the tears of desperation, the tears of insanity and the tears of hopelessness. She wouldn't wipe them away though; she would wear them tonight, in the darkness, and be okay with that.

"You sound like Helga." She spoke quietly, and while they wouldn't look at each other, both were aware of a change in their relationship fast approaching.

"We understand one another, it's as easy as that." She nodded, grateful he didn't notice her tears; or maybe he had, but had grown up enough to recognize that she needed this. Whichever the case, she was appreciative all the same. They fell into that comfortable silence again, and Rhonda eyed her companion's rifle, mind swirling with how she should best phrase her next question.

"Think you could teach me how to shoot that thing? You know, so I'm not so useless." Her request, no matter how quiet her voice was, seemed to echo all around them as Curly turned slowly to face her.

At first he was going to flat out refuse, but then he saw the look in her eyes. The hopelessness, the desperation, and even the insanity. Then his reasoning kicked in, and he realized that if they were to survive this, she couldn't rely on him saving her neck all the time. She would need to be able to defend herself, not only against zombies but marauders and other bad dudes as well.

His decision made, Curly turned his head back towards the direction the zombie vanished.

"We'll start tomorrow."

Her tears increased, due to her surprise and happiness. Who would have thought she would be so excited to learn how to shoot the living and dead alike from her crazy stalker? Certainly not Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. Before she could thank him and slip back down through the hatch to get some sleep, Curly spoke to her again.

"I will never let anything bad happen to you, so long as I am able to prevent it. And maybe not even then."

Suddenly she didn't need to go back into the bus as badly as before. It felt right to sit out here, in the cold, dangerous world, keeping him company as he carried out his watch. Slowly, carefully, she reached out, and took his frozen hand in hers.

_***.*.***_

Down below within the bus, Arnold shifted to get more comfortable, listening to the quiet breathing of his classmates and the hushed voices from the roof. Others shifted, but he couldn't tell if they were awake like he was, or sleeping – if they weren't awake, he was more than a little jealous.

"Never thought I'd miss my lumpy mattress." The whisper came from the seat next to him, and Arnold heard Sid laugh in response to the joke.

"Boy howdy, do I miss going frog catching." A few more people laughed, though it was quiet and half hearted.

"I miss the Jolly Olly Man. I could really go for a Mr. Nutty." That was definitely Harold, and a few kids groaned at the thought of that tasty ice cream treat they would probably never eat again.

"Man Harold, did you have to go there?" Gerald shot, and Phoebe giggled. Arnold could practically see his best friend go red faced with an embarrassed blush and pleased grin; his friend had it bad.

"I miss my braids." Nadine laughed, running a tired hand through her short dirty blonde locks.

"I miss my dad." That voice was unmistakably Lila, and Arnold found his face turning towards her before he even registered the movement. The bus grew quiet again, before others began voicing their own sorrows.

"I miss my parents. Heck, I even miss Timberly and Jamie-O."

"I miss my mother and father as well."

"I miss my mom."

"I miss my grandparents, and the boarders. Helga, isn't there anyway we can go back – just to see? What if they're still alive?" Arnold asked the next seat over. He knew she was awake, she was the one who started the conversation. But he was amazed when she not only let him finish his sentence, but remained silent afterwards too. Just when he was about to ask again, he heard her shift, releasing a strained sigh.

"We can't go back. I'm sorry guys, but I can't and won't risk it. Besides, you don't want to know what happened to them. Remember the good times and look at the road ahead of us." Her voice was tired, Arnold could hear it.

"Don't you want to know what happened to your parents? Your sister?" Nadine questioned, but before she could answer or avoid answering, Rhonda slide back in through the roof hatch, followed closely by Curly. As soon as his feet touched the metal floor, Helga was up and through the opening, rifle at the ready over her shoulder.

"She really is ever so cold, not wanting to know what happened to her family." Lila whispered, unaware of the ears that were listening from the roof as they guarded those inside. Unaware of how much her words stung.

"I reckon there's somethin' Helga ain't tellin us." Stinky murmured to himself in the back of the bus, to which only Sid nodded his agreement. The pair would be silent in their observations for now.

"Helga isn't cold, far from it. She doesn't desire to know what happened to her family because she already knows." As soon as the words left her mouth, Phoebe knew she shouldn't have spoken. Too late, the damage had been done, and all those awake were listening to her. After a moment of silent prodding, she finally let them know what her best friend had done.

"A few days ago she shot her father, and earlier today had to kill her mother as well. Both were infected past the point of life." Trying to keep it short and simple for her friend's sake, Phoebe spoke quickly and quietly. A few of the girls gasped, although Lila's was the loudest.

"That is why Helga needs us to keep moving forward. She's protecting us not only from the dangers we face, but the pain of seeing our loved ones how she saw hers. She doesn't want anyone else put in the position where they have to kill their family."

All conversation ended after that. Everyone tried to get some sleep, but on everyone's mind was the thought of one little blonde girl, who was growing up so much so her friends can still have something of a childhood. Meanwhile, Helga sat on the roof, feeling more alone than she ever had, crying as she listened to the world.

_***.*.***_

Dawn came far too fast for Chava, as she groaned when the light pierced her hat and invaded her eyes. Shifting her weight in the very uncomfortable driver's seat, she lifted her cloth eye and hair covering, noticing how empty the road was and how quiet the bus remained. Turning to wake the kids, she jumped when she came face to face with the zombies who ate her shotgun; apparently she only blew half of his jaw away. He grinned at her, before snarling and diving in for the kill.

Jerking in her seat, Chava spasmed around the steering wheel as she ripped her hat away from her eyes and whirled around. Simmons was snoring quietly in the seat to her right, and the rest of the children seemed to be just as dead.

"_Fuckin zombies, can't live with 'em. Can't sleep without 'em_." She muttered to herself, before standing and listening to her joints pop with relief. Sighing, she leaned on the back of the seat and eyed all the students carefully.

"Who has to pee?"

Every hand shot up in the air.

"I want a parameter report." She shouted up towards the open roof hatch, and wasn't surprised of the voice that replied.

"We're all good. I'll keep watch, then have Gammelthorpe cover my pee break." Helga called down, and Chava nodded as she winched open the doors. The kids, as apprehensive as they were, still flooded out the doors like water from a failed dam. Curly and Arnold both looked back up to the roof of the bus, making eye contact with their strong sentinel, her rifle at the ready and eyes tired but alert. She gave them a small signal, and Curly grabbed Arnold's arm, carting him over to where Rhonda stood, waiting for him.

The raven haired Princess almost felt jealous for the understanding that passed between Curly and Helga, at the connection the two shared. She would have been ready to throw a fit at her number one stalker finding companionship somewhere else, except that she knew of Helga's deep love for Arnold. She saw how the blonde's eyes changed as she looked from one gaze to another – and when Rhonda met eyes with Curly, she recognized that look. What Helga showed Arnold, and what Curly showed her were the same emotions.

It made her feel pretty.

"Come on guys, the sooner we get back to the bus, the sooner Helga can go, and then we'll be on the road."

The students nodded, following Curly as he led them off the road and into the underbrush.

"This really bites. Why couldn't them undead arise durin the summer?" Stinky whined as he and Sid performed a rookie sort of bushwhacking. From behind them, Phoebe spoke up as she stumbled and had to grip Gerald's arm for stability.

"Actually Stinky, we're lucky that this happened during late winter, early spring rather than summer. The chill in the air prevents further decay that would have undoubtedly happened because of the city heat. As it stands, the zombies are kept relatively intact, and the further north we go, I believe the more this will prove true. The dead will become stiff and eventually immobile; much like unprotected meat in a freezer they'll get freezer burn. So to speak." As she explained, the kids broke up into two groups, boys and girls. Ten year olds still have their propriety to think of.

"But, wouldn't it be ever so much easier if this happened during the summer? Not only would we be able to smell them coming, but we'd be with our families too." Lila questioned as the groups reconvened and headed back to the bus. Phoebe shook her head as she rubbed her hands together – a sudden cold wind had begun to chill them.

"Not really. The rotten flesh, coupled with the heat of the city's summer and the sheer volume of dead bodies would have been overwhelming. We never would have made it past the city gates. And who's to say we would even be with our families when this plague struck? I say we consider ourselves lucky we've survived this long."

Curly nodded his agreement with the very intelligent Kent-Asian, and was about to offer his own insights, when his foot caught a small sinkhole. Falling heels over head, he managed a few summersaults before he found himself on his back near the school bus, the barrel of Helga's gun aimed fitfully at his head.

"Klaatu barada nikto!" he chanted with his hands over his head and a smirk on his face. Helga smirked in return, before laughing and helping him to his feet as the others appeared from the thicket. Chava and Mr. Simmons came down the steps of the bus, Mr. Simmons calmly asking each student to sit down on the bus and wait for the three of them to return.

"Crazy, I want you up on top of that bus in no more than thirty seconds," Chava barked, and Curly barely had time to salute before he was running into the bus and scrambling up through the roof hatch, "Come on Simmons, Kid. I gotta piss."

Helga laughed again as she repositioned her weapon on her shoulder, loyally following her commander while Mr. Simmons shook his head with a pitiful sigh. But he was gracious enough to give them some privacy, wandering only a slight ways away to urinate. Helga had just told Chava about Curly's Day the Earth Stood Still reference, and the two were sharing a small laugh when Chava abruptly stopped.

"Do you hear that?"

Tuning out her rapidly accelerating heartbeat, Helga stopped breathing to listen. At first she didn't hear anything, but then there it was. A twig broken by a heavy footfall. Followed by another. Then a low, dead moan.

"What direction is it coming from?" Helga whispered, and Chava shrugged as she zipped up her jeans and picked up her shotgun. The pair was still as they waited for anything that would give away where the creature was. Nothing moved around them, until suddenly something broke through into their clearing.

It was Mr. Simmons, standing there panting and bracing his hands on his knees.

"I thought I heard something." He managed to get out before the two women shushed him, trying to hear something, anything. Helga could have sworn that right before Simmons rushed in, there was a low groan just off to her side, but she couldn't be sure.

"Ok Kid, let's get back to the bus, I don't want to be out here any longer than needed, gathering unwanted attention." Chava issued her order, Helga and Mr. Simmons nodding as they made their back towards the bus. A sudden snarl erupted, and Helga had just enough time to look to her left and shriek before she was knocked to the ground.

Her rifle bounced from her hands as she tried to keep his snapping jaws from making contact with her flesh. He back hurt from where she caught a rock right between the shoulder blades, and through her panic, her irritation rose.

"Hold still Helga, and I can get the shot!" Chava shouted, and Helga, ever the snarky little girl, couldn't stop her reply from biting out.

"No _rush_!"

A few seconds of tussling later, and Helga's annoyance reached a breaking point when the burly zombie on top of her was still thrashing uncomfortably close to her face.

"Take the _**damn**_ shot!" she shrieked, and when a shot did ring out, and the zombie fell on top of her double dead, Helga was expecting some smart remark from Chava. But when she managed to shoved the creature off of her, she was certainly surprised when she found Mr. Simmons holding her smoking rifle, eyes wide and face pale. But at least he wasn't shaking. Turning to Chava, Helga glared as the woman met her gaze evenly.

"And why didn't you smoke him?" Chava smirked as she cocked a thumb towards the forth grader's teacher.

"He's gotta get some practice with a firearm, right?"

And with that, she was gone through the brushed and towards the bus. Helga just sighed as she heaved herself off the ground, smiling at her teacher thankfully.

"Thanks Mr. Simmons." And with that, she took his pale hand in hers, and led him quietly back to the bus.

"How do you do it, Helga?" he asked, and she stopped to look at him. The others were just beyond the line of trees, but the girl figured she better address this before getting on the bus. The last thing they needed was a breakdown in front of them, and she could practically smell his approaching.

"Just think about everything I have to live for." He thought about it, before speaking again.

"But how can you kill them so easily? They were people too."

"Not so easily," Helga murmured to herself, but when she caught Mr. Simmons' gaze, she continued. "They were people, but they aren't anymore. They're dead. And we'll be just like them if we don't find a way to harden ourselves. I'm sorry if this hurts you, Mr. Simmons, but there is no cure for this. Not yet, if ever, so you can't just mope around not killing these zombies when all they want to do is eat your brains. I'm doing the best I can to keep you guys alive, but I can't do it all. You have to help me out." Set let that sink in, before she looked down and laughed brokenly, "I'm pretty sure I've said this all before. But I don't think anyone understood what I meant until now."

Mr. Simmons looked at her, for the first time not seeing his fourth grade student, but a hardening survivor.

"But, you're just a little girl." It was more to remind and reassure himself, rather than Helga.

"And you're just an old man. It doesn't matter anymore, because those stenches don't care, and neither should we. Come on, let's get back to the bus before Chava leaves us behind."

She didn't take his hand this time as they rejoined the group, and Robert Simmons couldn't help but think that his ten year old was forcing him to grow up. She let him climb the steps of the bus first, nodding to him when he started down the aisle and she doors shut behind her. And then, she turned her back to him, joining Curly and Chava as the bus started, and their unconventional leader drove off down the road.

"I'm thinking we move onto the 5, it's a straight shot into Canada." Curly suggested as he and Helga bent over the atlas they set on the dashboard. His companion traced the road with her finger, her brow furrowing in thought as she shook her head.

"No doubt it'll lead us right to Canada, but it's also the main artery. It'll be clogged with cars and stenches. It's risky." Chava made a noise of agreement, and both kids looked to her as her eyes stayed on the road ahead.

"And I-5 takes us right through Olympia, Tacoma, Seattle, Bellevue. The capital, not to mention some of the most populated cities in the state. My guess is that when this thing hit, three fourths of the population went and came back just as quickly. Those cities will be crawling with the undead, and any survivors still praying for a rescue."

The reasoning made sense to Curly, and he nodded before bending over the map again, rerouting and planning before speaking again.

"What if we take the 5, and then jump onto 12. It swings wide, but we can connect onto the 410 from there, then the 169 to the I-90; that way we can bypass the major cities. All that's left then is Everett, Mt. Vernon, and Bellingham. If we take the highways, it'll give us time to train up the others, so we can at least be prepared by the time we hit the cities." Curly explained, also tracing the routes with his finger as he showed Helga his plan. She seemed to study the map for a brief moment, before nodding.

"It's still risky, but that's probably the safest plan we have so far."

"Well this is nice; with the second in command and navigator running everything, all I have to do is drive the bus." There was nothing but good humor in her voice, and Helga and Curly shared a smile.

"Do you want to do all this planning?" Helga smirked, and Chava met her look, shaking her head with a laugh.

"No, I want to drive the bus. Crazy, I want you to go back and help Phoebs hand out the morning's food ration." He saluted her order, laughing at something only he thought was funny and grabbing Phoebe from out of her seat. His laughter increased at the looks both Gerald and Rhonda shot them, but Phoebe ignored them when she understood where he was leading her. As the pair dished out the food – left over cheese zombies – Helga and Chava mulled over the morning so far.

"We should keep the San Juan Islands open as an option simultaneously to Canada." Chava looked at the little girl from the corner of her eye, but said nothing, waiting patiently for the blonde to go on.

"My grandmother lived up in Oak Harbor, some of the islands are not that inhabited. That might be easier than trying to get past the border." Keeping it short and sweet and to the point, Helga didn't bother going into detail. If Chava didn't take to the idea, she wasn't going to waste breath on an explanation.

"There's a base up that way. It's an idea – we'll stop by that way, check it out before hitting the border crossing."

They grew quiet again, as Phoebe came up and handed both a cheese zombie. Chava didn't even bother looking at it as she bit into the slightly hard bread and fake cheese. Helga picked at hers, until Phoebe left them, then she spoke again.

"Why didn't you take the shot earlier? Really?" her voice was hushed and curious, causing Chava to stop mid chew.

"He wouldn't let me. I was ready to take the shot, but he snatched up your rifle, sent me an arresting look, and _pow_, took out your aggressor. That look in his eye, I've seen it many times before, you yourself have gotten it quite often since I've met you. The look of someone protecting someone they love." The older woman watched carefully how her words affected the little girl. Helga smiled, the first true smile Chava had ever seen spread across her lips.

Helga was feeling grateful, very grateful. She knew that this feeling of love was what she should have felt from her parents, but never did. It was a marvel to her, that she should love Dr. Bliss and Mr. Simmons like her parents, maybe even more than her biological life givers. She knew it would be a dark day when they lost their beloved teacher. Just like her shrink, Helga knew she wouldn't have the strength to end her teacher should he become infected. That realization scared her more than the thought of zombies feasting on her flesh.

Still, the little girl relished the feeling the older woman's words gave her. It was nice to be the one being protected for once.

HA


	8. Vesti la Guibba

_**Disclaimer: I'll skip the pleasantries and go straight to the important stuff: There is a poll on my profile; do you want a playlist; I don't own Hey! Arnold. Enjoy darlings. **_

HA

Up to this point in her life, nothing had made Chava more uncomfortable than driving along Interstate 5 during a zombie apocalypse. But to her overall amazement, the roads were almost bare. Sure, there were a few abandoned and totaled cars, a bus or two, and one freight truck that went down in a blaze of fiery glory, and that was it. No hordes of zombies waiting to eat their brains, no legion of the undead scouring the roads looking for their next victim. Just desolation on a massive scale, the world in front of them seemed almost unlived.

That was more unnerving then the zombies.

Helga and Curly were in the seat behind her, once again going over possible routes they could take, tracing with their fingers and studying with young eyes. Helga narrowed her eyes as Curly followed one road that swung wide, avoiding all the major hubs at Olympia.

"What if we take the 4 at Longview? It swings hella wide, but it does connect to Highway 101, and we can avoid all major cities." He offered, and the blonde lifted her eyebrow contemplatively, before pointing to the blue water of the atlas.

"As tempting as it is, we need a ferry for this route – it takes us right over the Sound. We have no guarantee that there will be a boat to get across, and if there is, does anyone here know how to even operate a ferry?" Curly nodded, before looking up towards his commander.

"What do you think?" both young children gazed up at her, patience in their eyes as they waited for her response.

"You guys remember K.I.S.S.?" the brown haired woman asked instead, causing her subordinates to stare at her in confusion.

"The rock band? Yeah, why, are they here?" Curly whispered excitedly while standing up to move towards the dashboard. His progress was hindered by Helga, who had grabbed him by the back of the shirt and yanked him back into the seat.

"No; the phrase Keep It Simple Stupid. I say we swap out the simple for a safe, and always keep that in mind. If the 4 and 101 avoid all major cities, I say we go for it – we'll worry about the boat when we get there." The two underlings nodded once – a motion she caught only with the rearview mirror – and she smiled. It was nice to have obedient soldiers every now and again. Movement on the relatively open road ahead caught her eye, and she let up on the gas as a plume of smoke breached the sky and evaporated into the grey clouds.

"Hang tight kiddies. We got fire; looks like it might be a collision." Immediately after the words left her mouth, Chava found Helga out of her seat and pressed against the dashboard, her blue eyes wide and scanning. Suddenly she pointed east, Curly coming up to stand beside her as a few of the other kids quieted their conversations.

"There, two o'clock."

In the far right hand lane of the freeway was a crashed corvette, a figure perched somberly on its roof. Next to that was a white van on its side, flames cackling from it slowly. Near the crash site the bloated and dirty form of a flesh eater lay, prone to the elements and whatever creature dared to eat it. As the bus approached the man – it became obvious that this was indeed a young man atop the car – lifted his head to watch. The bus stopped a few feet away, and while the doors opened, no one moved.

"Fuckin stench charged us as we were leavin the city." The man said after a moment of silence while turning his face towards the horizon, and it was then that Helga noticed another body still within the car. Phoebe, who had moved to the front of their ride, also saw the poor wretch and practically threw herself from the bus in order to run at the car. The man on the roof did nothing but watch as the young Asian stuck her hand past the shards of broken glass, feeling for a pulse of some kind.

The driver of the corvette was obviously also male, his mope of curly black hair did a good job of covering up the wound on his head. There was a large gash through his neck, not the product of a zombie but of an angry piece of window that punctured his jugular. The young woman tried not to notice the Hand of Fatima that hung around his neck, the once brilliant silver now stained red with the young man's blood. She fumbled for any sign of life, and felt broken when she found none.

She stepped back, his blood on her pale and shaking hands.

"We stole the 'vette after the whole world went to fuckin hell, figurin it best to get outta dodge. We made it outta Longview and think _hey, we might actually make it. We might come outta this one alright!_ Not a chance, we shoulda known, not a chance. This fucker has to come out and scare stupid Aazad into crashin the damn car." The man on the roof had yet to take his gaze from the line in the distance, and yet all the students stood in rapt attention to his words.

"I whipped outta the car as fast as I could; guns blazin like a fuckin cowboy, firin shot after shot at the fuckin stench. I get him between the eyes, killin an _already_ _dead_ fucker, and turn to ride Aazad's ass on gettin old and slow." Here, his expression fell from one of twisted mirth into absolute nothing, moving his eyes finally from the horizon to the kid standing before him, hands covered in his friend's blood.

"Wouldn't ya know it? I was protectin a corpse."

Phoebe bit back a sob as she covered her mouth with the back of her hands. Gerald was about to rush down the steps to take her into his arms, but stopped short when he, Arnold, and everyone within Rita witnessed Helga slowly walk out and put a gentle hand on her best friend's shoulder. They watched as the muscles in the blonde's hand flexed when her grip tightened, then in a flash she was guiding her friend back to the bus. Phoebe rushed up the steps, and this time Gerald was allowed to throw open his arms and welcomed the feeling of his favorite girl gripping him tightly to stay grounded. Helga remained outside the bus, staring evenly at the man on the roof.

"_He said that this is Allah's doing. That we're being punished for our sins. Maybe he was right._" His voice became so low, the little girl had to strain her ears to hear him. The weight of her rifle was a comfort in her arms as she sought his eyes, expression calm as she finally spoke.

"_And they will come forth from their graves as though they were locusts scattered about, hastening towards the Summoner._" Her words were just as quiet as his, and he smirked brokenly as he nodded, finding something relatable within this little girl. Moving his eyes back to the city his best friend died trying to escape, he pointed towards the center.

"You're gonna wanna avoid as much of the city as possible, cause the nasty fuckers are everywhere. And some of them are fast – I mean fast." With a brief nod, Helga turned and made her way back to the bus, making eye contact with Chava as the engine roared to life.

"We can't just leave him here, he'll die. Sir, please come with us, I'm ever so sure we'll find some place safe." The red head had danced her way elegantly down the steps, but stopped short at the soft shaking of Helga's head.

"No Lila." Her tone was somber, but the young girl from the country couldn't comprehend what their second in command was telling her.

"Wha-what?"

"I said no." her voice had not changed as she made her way up the steps, forcing her classmate back with every step. Lila was just about to start a commotion when the man spoke again, lighter this time now that the subject had changed.

"You guys might wanna get goin – it's gonna storm soon." He lifted a long, steady hand to point towards the industrial skyline of the city they were about to brave, and Helga felt a lump rise in her throat at what he revealed. That one swift movement pulled his jacket up his arm, and the whole world bore witness to the handkerchief tied around his wrist, the blue material a now deep brown from sopped up blood. The blonde could see torn flesh peeking out from the edges of the cloth, and everything was suddenly even just a bit clearer to her.

She hoped, as she took her eyes away from his bite and to the dark grey blue of the thunderclouds, that she was the only one to see it.

"Good luck." His voice was grave once more, and Lila looked on in shock as Helga gave him a small salute.

"You too."

"Please sir, you have to come with us!" she was near hysterical, and Helga was about to give her another ultimatum, when the man spoke for the final time.

"Nah, I think I'll stay here and protect Aazad. I've been defending him since 9/11, a little while longer won't hurt." Lila started to weep openly as the steel doors were winched shut, and Chava took off down the road. Helga and Curly stood next to her once again, eyes gazing out on the asphalt before them as they entered the city. No one made an attempt to silence or console the redhead. Just like none of them heard the single gunshot ring out before the freeway fell quiet once more; Rita's engine did a good job of covering everything with constant road noise.

On the windshield, the first drops of rain hit.

_**~O~**_

"Crappy wiper blades." The brunette growled as she squinted to see anything between the thick streaks. The blades of the windshield wipers did little good, and with a begrudging sigh kept her eyes peeled for the nearest store.

"You know we can't live off cheese zombies any more than we can kill with invisible bullets. We'll have to stop and restock before taking the back roads." Helga muttered, watching Phoebe from the corner of her eye. Her best friend had been silent since reentering the bus, and Helga was a bit worried – but knew should her friend need an ear, she wouldn't hesitate to ask. Curly, meanwhile, was back to leaning against the dashboard as Rita rumbled along the backstreets.

"I say we hit up the Wal-Mart. It's a super center, so we can stock up on food, ammo, and whatever else we might need." Chava's whole body seemed to deflate at the thought of Wal-Mart, and Helga stayed quiet as he leader thought. It was a few minutes of silent driving before she spoke.

"Everyone and their mother will be at Wal-Mart. Survivors looking for safety, zombies following food and vague memory, or looters like us. Should we go, there are a number of ways the situation can go from bad to worse in a hurry." Curly nodded as well. Of course he knew it would probably be a suicide mission, but wars of survival we not won by playing it safe all the time, were they?

"It would be stupid if we all went in; not only would Rita be exposed, but with so many inexperienced cooks in a potentially hazardous kitchen we run the risk of massive disaster." Helga thought, her eyes trained on the streaks created from the old wiper blades. Curly looked at her from the corner of his eye, watching her reaction as he voiced his next thought.

"Send in a small group of raiders." Chava ordered, baring no room for question. Helga gave a curt nod, before bracing herself against a seat back as Chava slammed through a hairpin turn. Rita came to rest at the entrance to a large, empty parking lot that sprawled into the doors of a Wal-Mart. Standing from the driver's seat, Chava faced her ragged warriors with a brave face, fist clenched in determination.

"Alright kiddos, here's the situation: we are running low on food, ammunition, and morale. A small band of you will be dropped off at the doors, where you will have fifteen minutes to get in, get supplies, and get out. It's far too risky for this bus to stay at the doors patiently waiting for you – so the rest of us will do a few laps around the block. Remember, this will be just like at the school; if you're not back out in fifteen minutes, _you_ _**will**_ be left behind. Understood?"

A sharp intake of breath drew three sets of eyes to the right side of the bus, where a pretty red head sat with thin tears streaks down her face. Arnold had gone to sit next to her, trying to console her, but Helga's harsh voice broke through the sobs.

"Stop it Lila. You're not going in any case, so quit your blubbering. You'll be safe within the bus." Her face flush with anger, Helga turned back to Chava in an attempt to keep herself in check. "We're waiting for your orders, Boss." Their brown haired leader smirked at the title, before skimming her eyes over the young faces of her wards.

"Kid, you'll take Crazy, Big Dude, Buddha, Toad, Mouth and Specs. Try to snatch us something useful." Chava's orders were clear to those who could read between the lines, and Helga was always an avid reader. The blonde girl took the gun offered to her by her leader with a look that Helga interpreted as a shopping list.

_Food_

_Medication_

_Ammunition_

The two shared a locked gaze before Chava added another thing to the list.

_Hygienic Supplies_

That was more like an afterthought, but Helga received it all the same. As Chava slid back into the driver's seat and pulled the bus up to the doors once more, the little girl turned to face her classmates.

"Gammelthorpe, Torvald, Harold, Sid, Joey and Peapod – you guys are coming with me. Grab a gun and fall in line."

As Rita rolled to a stop, Chava didn't make a move for the lever to open the doors, but rather turned in the seat with her thumb angled towards the roof hatch.

"For obvious reasons, you guys are gonna take the roof." The two returned their gaze to the dark gray clouds, barely visible through the rain. Helga nodded to no one in particular, but rather her own thoughts, then moved the roof hatch. She had just pushed the cover open and was about to heave herself up and out when Chava's voice entered her ears once again.

"Helga, fifteen minutes." Tossing her second in command a stop watch, the older woman was pleased to see the determination in the eyes of the blonde rather than apprehension. She was up and out of the bus moments later. Sid shared a friendly handshake with Stinky before pushing a trembling Harold up onto the seat; Joey and Peapod Kid wouldn't have moved to follow Helga, had Torvald not grabbed the shaking kids by the back of the shirts and hauled them up. With an amused and crooked smirk, Curly was about to bring up the rear when a soft hand tentatively took his own.

He was stunned to see Rhonda Wellington Lloyd holding his hand, a worried look marring her lovely features.

"Curly, watch your back." Her words were strong, mouth set in a thin line as she placed his rifle in the hand she had taken. His smile turned more genuine as he let his fingers graze her skin while taken the offered weapon, his satisfaction growing at the light blush she had the presence of mind to let dust her cheeks. He couldn't resist.

"Don't worry my dove, I will check myself before I wreck myself."

And with that he was gone, the hatch closed and secured behind him.

"Uh, what?" was all the Princess could voice as the blush abandoned her face, while Nadine and Phoebe shrugged curiously behind her.

_**~O~**_

The rain had already soaked them through as they stood at the doors, listening to the sound of their getaway vehicle doing just that. Torvald had never seen the parking lot of any retailer – much less Wal-Mart – as empty as this. There were a few parked cars in the back forty, and multiple bloodstains on the asphalt. Carts were still in the cart return, and bodies were scattered about – one or two here, one over there, a small group over by the Wendy's that shared the same parking lot and intersection light. He could tell that they hadn't moved in a while and probably wouldn't ever again.

"No sense gawking and wasting time. Come on, Geekbaits." That said, their small, blonde leader cocked her gun and slowly approached the doors. They weren't shattered, broken in or even cracked which made her uneasy and on edge, but once she stepped onto the sidewalk and consequently the threshold, she understood why. The doors, whose motion sensors had picked up her movement, opened as if she had used her Jedi mind tricks; security lights were still on within the store, and the kids were hit with a blast of circulated cold air as they passed through the foyer and the second set of doors.

It was painfully obvious that the store had already been looted before, by the living and dead alike.

It was barely past Valentine's Day and already all the fake hearts and cards and displays had been stocked away in favor of Easter paraphernalia. The yellow boxes which held the bags of Cadbury eggs, Hershey's and Nestle sweets, Peeps and other such treats were sadly empty. The scent of floral decay hit her nose first, her blue eyes brought to the section of bright colored flowers, wilting from lack of water, love and care. Purple and white petals of dead orchids littered the linoleum flooring, undisturbed by everything except for time.

Another smell assaulted them, one of rotten meat, and behind her Helga heard Harold retch, fighting back the desire to vomit. Waving a hand over her shoulder, she led the boys around the race track and along the outskirts towards the outdoor fun aisle. The walk was quiet, only their shoes made any noise as they squeaked and squished their path, following their leader without any real question in mind.

"Will you walk into my parlor? said the Spider to the Fly." Curly's voice suddenly broke the stillness, and Helga nodded even as the others looked on confused.

"Agreed." She replied quietly, eyes darting left to right, always left to right, gun resting at the ready.

"Huh?" Joey asked, spinning around in attempt to watch all sides at all times. Sid rolled his eyes with a sigh, hand gun only slightly trembling in his hands.

"Something's off about this place, let's just get the supplies and get out of here." The blonde suppressed a shudder as they passed beneath an air vent, the cold wind goose bumping her already chilled wet skin.

They quickly came upon the duffle bag display, relief washing over them as they each grabbed two bags. But while Helga knew that phase one was finished, they still had to survive the hardest part – they still had to split up and gather everything they needed.

"Torvald, you and Joey stay here and hit the camping gear. I want you to grab as many batteries, flashlights, matches, knives, as you can. Weapons, we need more weapons. I doubt this place carries guns and ammunition, but in the off chance that they do snatch as much of that as well. Harold, you Sid and Peapod will go through the food section. One of you grab nothing but bottled water if there's any left. Avoid everything frozen, rotten, or what could spoil quickly. Grab everything else. Gammelthorpe and I will go through the pharmacy. Work as quickly, quietly, and efficiently as possible. Once your duffle bags are full, go straight back to the entrance. Clear?" her boys nodded, and with that they split up.

_**H*A**_

"So . . . Rhonda huh?" Helga prompted quietly now that the pair were away from the prying ears of their classmates. They had walked in silence for the first few seconds, until Curly had started softly humming the tune to a song he heard recently heard from a movie, and Helga figured it relatively safe to loosen the tension in her shoulders. She had noticed over the past few days that the kid in her current company had a crazy sixth sense for zombies, and would probably be the first to know were one in the vicinity.

"Yeah, my darling is finally starting to come around. She actually showed genuine concern for me before we left." His smile was innocent and infectious, and soon Helga was grinning like the idiot.

"What did I tell you? Back off and she'll come to you," at his nod of agreement, she laughed quietly, "maybe this'll teach you to heed my advice a little more often." The smirk of victory along her lips couldn't be ignored, and Thaddeus Curly Gammelthorpe couldn't resist.

"Perhaps. And perhaps it'll open up your eyes to follow your _own_ advice once and awhile."

The smirk faded from her lips as her eyes became unfocused and fixed on a spot along the wall somewhere above the bright red pharmacy sign. Wondering if he had over-stepped his bounds, the young Gammelthorpe was about to touch her shoulder when her orbs became clearer and she looked at him somberly.

"Romance is the last thing I can afford to think of at the moment. Right now, the most important thing to me is keeping your butts safe and alive." Her words were full of self assurance, and Curly found himself grinning at her even as his heart pulsed in compassion for her.

"You're right I guess. Plenty of time for repopulating the earth once we've found a haven to call home."

Rather than smack him in the back of the head like her fingers itched too, Helga just grinned back, before picking up her pace and sliding over the pharmacy counter. Curly watched her sweep pill bottles into her bag for a moment, before he moved through the aisles, stocking up on bars of soap, tooth paste and tooth brushes, shampoo, over the counter medication and first aid supplies.

Where was the toilet paper? He hoped someone else would be able to find it, because the idea of wiping with leaves really didn't appeal to him as much as it used to.

_**H*A**_

Joey had been nearly walking on top of Torvald before the bigger kid had said anything at all, and even then it was a simple _Relax_, followed by a reassuring pat on the back. Once they had split into teams, he watched forlornly the disappearing forms of Helga and Curly, then Harold, Sid and Peapod Kid; his legs screamed at him to chase them down and beg to go back to the bus. But then he thought of Torvald. It's neither nice nor wise to ditch the biggest kid in your group during a zombie apocalypse, and if there's one thing Joey prided himself on, it was his common sense.

And so, struggling with his two large duffle bags, he wound his way through the aisles opposite Torvald, grabbing handfuls of stuff at a time. He couldn't find the matches, but he did come across two full shelves of camping toilet paper and wondered why no one had stolen that already. The batteries were untouched as well, and the same went for the full display of water-resistant flashlights. Had no one thought to loot this part of the store?

With a shrug of his pre-pubescent shoulders Joey continued on in ignorance, even of the slow moving rotted flesh bag that had rounded the tent end-cap, shuffling towards the foreign sounds. Hands outstretched with a drunken semblance of desire, the poor wretch was making good of his trackless, dry converse with the intent to eat the little black boy's brains. His nametag read Carlos, although now the only ones who knew that wasn't his actual name but his work buddy's, were the dead.

The shattering of glass cases one aisle over reminded the kid to be aware of his surroundings, the shuffle scuffle of another pair of unbalanced feet drawing his attention to the end of his row. Joey had just enough time to turn and swallow his own scream as the zombie descended upon his innocent flesh. He could just feel the decayed teeth breaking and digging into his skin, releasing the blood and with it a torrent of life and memories. The struggle would be pathetic at best as the living dead would feast upon his corpse before he would leave to find the others, and he too would become a soulless corpse wandering the halls, only hoping Helga would have the compassion to put him down like she had Bobby –

But the killing bite never came.

Instead, the quaking boy with a missing tooth opened his eyes to see Torvald standing to the right of the stumbling dead, his hand clenched tightly around the handle of a hunting knife as he buried it deeply within the skull. He hand was steady as he let go of the hilt, the zombie swaying in place for a moment before falling forward with a soft thud. Eyes following the drop, Joey's gaze lingered on the re-dead before moving back up to his companion.

"You are now my best friend."

Torvald just shrugged noncommittally, and that was when the smaller boy took notice of his duffle bags. One was already filled with several unopened bb and pellet guns, as well as an array of boxed ammunition. The other held a large number of knifes that had been broken out of the security case, as well as several torch lighters and packets of matches. Turning, the larger of the two stepped around the zombie to grab tents and sleeping bags, forcing them into his duffle as he figured the danger had passed with just the one. As Joey watch him move around, he felt an overwhelming sense of uselessness.

Here was Torvald, a quiet, gentle killer, gathering supplies and fighting off the dead. His bags were just about full, yet he was still looting, still trying to find anything and everything that could aid their survival party. And there was Joey, one bag half full, the other still empty. His hands were trembling from the thoughts of a zombie eating his brains while the fantasy was still fresh in his mind.

Movement drew his eye, and suddenly Torvald was on his back, both hands preoccupied with keeping the snapping jaws of the zombie away from his throat. The bags had been tossed to the side, and for a moment it was all Joey could do to stand there and watch the chaotic sight – unexpectedly he found his own bags dropped from his shoulders. His hands found themselves wrapped around a wooden baseball bat, the swing a practiced and automatic motion as the thickness contacted with the creatures head. It went flying off his companion, and Joey quickly followed it.

"Stop moving!" he shouted hoarsely as viciously beat in the skull with a full-sounding _thwack_.

"_Stop_ moving!"

_Thwack_.

"_Stop_ **moving**!"

_Thwack_.

"_**Stop**_ _**moving**_!"

_Thwack_.

Arms dropped to his side, Joey heaved his breath in and out in forced pants, his ribcage hurting from the physical exertion as the zombie finally settled into stillness. When a heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, he jumped with foreseeable surprise, but managed not to scream. Torvald smirked at him, and nodded his head in both thanks and as a complement.

"Nice work Mouth." Hearing the nickname on the lips of a classmate he both feared and admired made Joey's face break out into a grin, pride filling his very being as he and the older fourth grader bonded.

"Think we should tell Helga?" he asked while Torvald kicked both zombies and went to pick up his bags, slinging them on his shoulders with little effort. He stopped for a moment, mulling over the idea of telling their young leader, before shaking his head with a smile in Joey's direction.

"It's just two of 'em. If we run across several more we'll have to tell her, but as it is I think we have it covered."

And with their new friendship sowed, Torvald grabbed Joey by the arm, and began shoving sleeping bags into the smaller boy's empty duffle.

_**H*A**_

"Aw man, why did Helga have to make me get the food? GAH! I'm _so_ _**hungry**_!" bemoaning his fate was all too natural to Harold by now, his hunger only intensifying his whining. Sid could only groan while rolling his eyes at his friend's usual antics; Peapod Kid looked at the pair of them curiously. Harold and Sid had never been part of the crowd he went with, and so he was unsure how to deal with them appropriately. With a calm reserve he'd become known for, he readjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"You've worked with Mr. Green – she probably figured you'd know the most about food. I'm sure Helga knew what she was doing." He assured as they surveyed their surroundings. The deli section had been cleaned out, which was really no surprise to the boys, nor was the fact that the most of the pre-prepared, easy to eat crap food had been looted. All the alcohol was gone from the shelves.

"Ok, Sid, get the water bottles. Peapod Kid, get the preserved food. Meet up in the cracker aisle." His compadres looked at him expectantly, wondering what he would be looting.

"I've got a date with the freezer section." With that said, Harold was gone, around the corner and out of sight from the other two. The pair simply looked at each other, before separating into their own areas.

"Think someone should get some pots and pans, too?" Sid asked his comrade quietly as they wandered away from the sounds of Harold and his cries of joy.

"Perhaps. I'll go and get the hardware, you get the water and food."

"Sure. Be careful Peapod Kid." They nodded to one another, and while Sid thought he heard the other boy mutter something along the lines of _Peter_, he didn't call attention to it, and the other didn't repeat.

Swift like a ninja, Peapod Kid was gone, his now dry shoes noiseless as he nearly ran in the direction of kitchenware. That left Sid to move through his own consumable aisles, naturally, going left to right and starting with the water. As he suspected, the shelves were almost bare, only a few bottle remained along the whole aisle, on their sides or on the floor. There were no more pallets left.

Stuffing what little he found into one of the bags, he quickly moved onto the next section, finding much more success by way of granola bars, dried oatmeal and pickles. He wasn't sure if Chava, Helga and Curly would want condiments, so he grabbed four or five bottles of each, tossing them in with the other bottles and jars. Avoiding the fresh fruit display was a given, most of it was rotten or wilting already, he moved over to the canned goods, passing the meats section. With less alarm than he was expecting, Sid noticed that the deli was all but obliterated. Hardly any meat left to go bad, except for the body of an employee, bent over backwards on the counter.

Steeling his stomach, Sid wandered over, gently kicking the corpse with his foot. Her torso had been eviscerated, innards spilled out over the floor, half eaten. Her cheek looked as if it had been chewed on, and one of her arms looked like a pork rib – after it's been gnawed on.

Her bloody nametag read Sarah M, the yellow smiley face smudge with a chunk of tissue.

It was as he turned to vomit on the dirty floor that Sid had his best sign of luck for the day: as he emptied his stomach contents, his watery eyes caught a display. Wiping his mouth off once the heaves stopped Sid found it in himself to smile. Gotta love spring; vegetable, fruit and berry seed packets on every shelf of every store.

Peter, or Peapod Kid to almost everyone at school, moved as quickly through the rows as he could without running. A sense of foreboding pushed his heels even faster, weaving in and out of displays and shelving, keeping his eyes and ears pealed for any sort suspicious sound or movement. He almost missed the aisle he was looking for he was so focused on staying focused – he nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Pushing up his glasses moved as fast as he could, shoving pots and pans into one of the duffle bags. Once they were sufficiently stuffed and awkward to maneuver with, he made his way swiftly back to the others, pleased with himself and his fast work.

It was as he passed a smaller aisle that he paused a moment longer, glass-covered eyes roaming over the shelves. His smile grew as he decided he had a few more minutes to spare, and carefully made his way to one of the displays. But the biggest question of all: which was the better model?

Brita or PUR?

But it was Harold who was the most giddy over the assignment he was given, standing before the nearly untouched freezer doors. Eyes wide as dinner plates, stomach growing in excitement, he couldn't contain his glee as he reached for the door handles, hands shaking. Just when his fingers made purchase and his grip tightened, muscles taunt with anticipation that something stopped him.

_Avoid the freezer section – that means you Pink Boy._

He could practically hear Helga's commanding voice next to him, unsettled that she was now in his head as well. How could she invade his mind like that?

"_Madam Fortress Mommy_ . . . _**Get out of my brain!**_" his voice breaking in puberty, his free hand moved to his head to grab at his hat while the other grip tightened. No, he would not let her boss him around here, not here.

With bravery he rarely showed the others, he threw open the cold glass door and grabbed several of the chilled yellow boxes, giggling with delight at the feel of something so familiar in his hands. It was here, standing in the fridge of the abandoned Wal-Mart amid the smell of decay, holding a box of his youth, that he found a moment where things seemed – for a moment – normal. Back to the way they had been. No fear for survival. no bossy Helga. No sitting on an overheating crowded bus with nearly all his classmates and teacher. No zombies.

Just him and a box of Mr. Fudgie Ice Cream Bars.

Snapping out of his fantasies at the sound of Sid calling his name, he shoved as many boxes into one of his duffle bags. Letting the door shut with a final thump, he released a deep, soul-cleansing sigh and moved out of the aisle, towards his friend.

Better hide his guilty little pleasure before Helga caught him. Knowing her she might just leave him behind.

_**H*A**_

When the group rejoined at the entrance, all the duffle bags and been stuffed to capacity, making movement awkward and cumbersome. Helga had a smirk on her lips as she pulled the stopwatch from her back pocket. The boys had to readjust a couple times as she eyes the countdown.

"Minute thirty, let's head out. Report." She ordered as they circled up, armed and ready should anything try to hinder their escape.

"Matches, lighters, flashlights, batteries, tents, sleeping bags, knives, bb and pellet guns and ammunition for said small arms." Torvald raffled off as the doors opened. She nodded, looking over to Harold.

"What little water bottle there were, dried foods, preserved and canned goods, as well as condiments, a few spices and addings like sugar, salt and pepper. Seed packets." Harold listed, and while Helga smiled, she quickly eyed Peapod's bags. She didn't say anything, but the look in her gaze clearly said _That's not food_. Peapod shifted the weight and smiled, pushing up his glasses.

"Pots, pans, and several water filters."

Helga laughed, returned her focus to the front of the store as they made their way out. It was as they stood in the rain, the dull roar of Rita's engine steadily approaching that Helga finally responded.

"Smart, Specs. Very smart."

_**~O~**_

Chava tapped the steering wheel in a chaotic pattern that Mr. Simons had realized early on was a nervous tick. Every few minutes her eyes would dart to the stopwatch that sat lonely on the dust dashboard, counting down at the same second intervals no matter when she looked. When it was down to a minute thirty, she forced Rita into as much of a bitch as that old bus could flip, cruising back to the main entrance.

Relief filled her when she spotted the group of seven standing outside the doors, in a circle and back to back. She didn't know if she could stand to lose her two best soldiers and be left to defend the little brats on her own. Pride filled her as she observed the stuffed bags on their shoulders, two each. She was willing to bet that was Helga's idea. Chava swore that little girl was really a thirty five year old.

Pulling up to the side of the pack she put the bus in neutral and turned to bark out orders while those outside moved for their ride. Rhonda was first in her line of vision, and so she was the poor peon to face the brunt of the aggressive Jewish woman.

"Princess, open up the hatch! The rest of you for a passing line. I want the bags deposited in the back of the bus as fast as possible. But do not get reckless." She waited as the kids all looked at her. Rhonda was the only one that moved to obey.

"_**NOW!**_" she snarled. Everyone scrambled to attention as Rhonda unlocked the emergency roof exit, waving her arms above her head to signal her friends enthusiastically. She saw Helga nod and motion for the others to follow, the rain re-soaking their already damp clothes.

"Form a line – Gammelthorpe up on the roof, the rest of you fill in. Peapod Kid, you'll stay down with me and pass up the bags. Now."

Distributing the duffle bags in a pile at Helga's feet, the boys followed the orders starting with Curly, who somehow managed to scramble up the front scoop like a freaked out chimpanzee. Torvald and Harold were sent inside to load the heavy bags down the hatch while Joey and Sid stood on the hood, ready and waiting for the first fully loaded bag.

The two on the ground made fast work of the pile, determination sweating from their brows and mixing with the intense rain water. Chava observed coolly, and it was when only the last few bags were left that she spotted something off the side of the building that nearly stopped her heart.

A horde. Fast approaching.

"_**GET IN THE BUS!**_"She shouted frantically to those outside. She saw Helga look up and over, her small eyes widening at the sight coming her way. The blonde girl shouted something, of which the only words Chava could make out were _in_ and _bus_. Sid and Joey were in through the hatch as soon as the word bus left her mouth, while Curly slid down the windshield to the top of the scoop, reaching out either the bags or his friends – although he was hoping they would give him his hands.

Being ever the sacrificial survivalist, Helga shoved the remaining two bags into his hands. The Gammelthorpe stumbled backwards before righting himself, painfully aware of how fast the zombies were moving towards them. As he turned to hand off the bags, Helga tried to push Peapod Kid up the curve of the scoop after he tried to climb and slip multiple times. But she was tired, and so in a split-second decision let him go, only to clamber up the incline herself. As soon as she slid over the lip of the metal, she spun on her stomach and reach for his grasp.

It was when the skin of their hands met that the fastest of the stenches reached them, grabbing at his legs. His cries we challenged by the angry roars of the dead, the growl of the engine, the pounding of the rain and the clap of thunder. Helga's hand went to fist into his shirt when he violently shifted to grab the sharp edge of the plow head, giving him extra purchase to kick and flail his legs wildly. His screams increased when one of them managed to catch one of his limbs, biting into it with a ferocity he didn't think was possible from a corpse.

Curly, meanwhile, found himself momentarily stunned when, before he could turn back around after unceremoniously shoving the bags down the hole, Rhonda emerged. She wore a viscous expression in her eyes and on her face as she raised a handgun. He tripped backwards just in time as she pulled the trigger, the recoil from the force pushing her back and smacking her violently into the side.

Inside the bus, Chava shoved the closest body to her – which happened to be Sheena – into the driver's seat, and then went for a gun.

"Stomp on the gas and get us the hell out of here."

Sheena, who still hadn't touched the wheel, turned back up to her leader with wide, panicked.

"I-I-I can't drive the bus!" her voice was quiet and shaky, and Chava spun on her, hair wild and eyes calm as she cocked the rifle she taken from Torvald.

"Your friends are going to die unless you take the _**god**_ _**damn**_ _**wheel!**_"

Intimidated more than she ever had been before in her life, Sheena shrank in the seat, taking the wheel in her shaking hands. Chava nodded, propelling herself up through the hatch, trying to ignore the sounds of screaming, panicking children and their teacher in order to save three of her subordinates.

"_**NARGH!**_" Helga screamed as pain filled her being and clouded her vision. For a brief, terrifying moment she thought she'd been bitten as agony erupted from her left arm. Her unintentional flinch provided just what the zombies needed, and Peapod Kid's shirt slipped from her grasp, his dog tags breaking from around his neck, the chain tangled around her fingers.

"_**NOW!**_" Chava shouted when the bus didn't move, the bullets flying out of her gun as she shoved Rhonda back down into the bus. Curly took the opportunity to grab Helga from around the shoulders and pull her back towards the hatch, zombie heads exploding all around.

Helga could only watch in a daze as Peapod Kid was ripped down the front of the bus, Sheena's backwards driving and the force of the zombies a double strike against his survival. His fearful, pain-filled gaze bore holes into her soul from behind his glasses as he disappeared from her sight.

"_**PETER!**_" She finally shouted before being hauled down exit, Chava pumping out a few more shots before dropping down and closing the door. Sheena was shouting noises as she held her foot down on the gas with all her might, the zombies chasing after. With a new wind, the pacifist suddenly let off the accelerant, forced the bus into drive, and moved to ram the horde down as she drove for the intersection. All those within bounced around as she rammed and ran over the undead, screaming triumphantly before the road was clear, and they took off down the road. The zombies pursued, but Rita soon proved too fast, and they were lost.

A hush fell over the group as Curly gently laid Helga in one of the seats, Phoebe rushing to her friend's side. Everyone noticed that she had blood running down her arm, a hole in her shirt just above her elbow. Rhonda had to turn away, an unpleasant churning in her stomach rising bile in her throat at the sight of the wound she caused her friend, with her poor aim. Curly rubbed her back twice in what he hoped was a comforting manner, before moving to Phoebe, who had ripped off Helga's sleeve to inspect the wound.

"What do you need, Phoebe?" he asked quietly, a little unsettled as Helga watched her little friend, eyes empty and watery.

"Get me the first aid bag." He nodded, and turned to get it when he found Arnold standing there, offering the needed bag. He couldn't meet Curly's eyes.

"Here." He said quietly. Curly thanked him quietly, turning back to Phoebe who began digging through it. After pulling out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and several types of bandages before here brows furrowed.

"Did you get tweezers?"

"Negative. Sorry Phoebe." She shook her head, looking up to meet his eyes for the first time.

"What about a knife? And a lighter?" there Curly turned to Torvald, effectively handing off the Kent-Asian's brutal stare to the biggest fourth grader he knew. The larger kid swiftly moved back to another duffle bag, pulling out one of the lighters and another of the guns. Handing it off, he didn't need to ask the question before Phoebe was answering as she worked.

"The bullet is still in her arm. I need to sterilize the knife so I can dig it out. Someone grab me some aspirin and something for her to wash it down." Striking the flame as someone behind her moved to follow her orders, she traced the yellow fire under and around the blade for nearly a minute. Moving quickly, she uncapped the alcohol and doused the hot metal before taking her friend's arm.

"This will hurt, Helga." Her words were soft, and Helga nodded before leaning forward and taking the seat in front of her into her white grip. Her mouth came around the leather, biting down as hard as she could, anticipating tears streaming down her face. With a final nod, Phoebe took a breath and dug into her friend's flesh.

Helga hissed in pain as her tears came out faster, her body shaking while Phoebe dug around inside her arm. To the blonde girl, the mock surgery lasted well beyond eternity, before Phoebe finally let out a breath of relief, the small bullet popping out of the blood and bouncing to the floor. She was pleased, managing to keep the opening relatively small, as she soaked a little clump of gauze in the rubbing alcohol, placing it on the wound. Helga hissed, releasing the leather from her teeth, taking a few shaky, stabilizing breaths, and then turned to watch Phoebe wrap the gauze tightly in medical tape. When a hand was thrust into her face, Helga looked up and was surprised to meet the guarded eyes of Arnold. In his palm, she found a couple of ibuprofen, and though she figured the week pain killer would be essentially useless – Vicodin or Oxycontin would have been much more appreciated – but it was the thought that counts.

With a nod, she took the pills with her good had and dropped them into her mouth. Rhonda offered her one of the few bottles of water, which Helga accepted gratefully, and it was a moment or two after she swished and swallowed that she composed herself to address Phoebe.

"Criminy. That hurt." Her voice was weak, and at her small smile Phoebe burst into tears and threw her arms around her friend's neck. Helga said nothing; simply let a grimace grace her features before smoothing her face into composure while hugging her friend back fiercely.

In the front of the bus, Sheena's screaming had quieted, and she drove them on in silence as the rain continued to pound harder, every once and a while a streak of lightening breaking up the grey of the sky.

HA


	9. Rain O'er Me

_**Disclaimer: Another chapter. Long time, yeah? I don't own Hey! Arnold. I also noticed quite a few of you are commenting on Arnold, his sometimes lack of presence and how you're sure the romancing between he and Helga will start soon. If you would be so kind as to go to the specs of this fic, and take a good look at both the pairings and genre, please. See? The genre is friendship, and there are no pairings. **_

_**This is not about romance – although if there's one thing I know it's that romance and zombies go hand-in-hand – it's a story about survival. About a group of people, kids, who've grown up together, who in the face of the end of the world stick by one another in a small semblance of normalcy. And this isn't a story of Arnold and Helga, Curly and Rhonda, Phoebe and Gerald, et cetera, nor is it a story solely of Helga (I noticed it started leaning that way and I am trying to correct the issue). **_

_**This is a story of a fourth grade class from P.S. 118.**_

HA

It was the changing of the guard close to morning that awoke Arnold from his light slumber. The small amount of light dancing off the metal walls allowed his tired eyes to see Curly's shadow as he slid down into the seat below the emergency hatch. Feeling something he couldn't quite explain, the football headed fourth grader watched as his crazy classmate stood slowly and held out a hand to a body in the adjacent seat. Into his palm slid a pale hand, and Arnold was amazed as the young Gammelthorpe helped Helga to her feet, assisting the blonde towards the hole in the roof. Just as she stepped up onto the seat, Chava's motionless form spoke from the driver's perch.

"Kid, your wound is still fresh, and you're still weak. Sit tight, I'll take the watch and you stay down here and rest." Her words were wise, but Arnold thought he heard a growl come from the little girl.

"I'm not going to shirk off my responsibilities because of a scratch. Besides, we need you driving this beast should we need a fast getaway." Was the blonde's gruff response, and Arnold shifted himself slightly to get a better view of the exchange.

Helga's hand was still firmly in Curly's grasp, one foot already poised to heave herself up and out of the hole in the roof. Chava hadn't moved from her seat, but rather turned her head over her shoulder, meeting the eyes of her subordinates with a lift of her cap.

"I'm not asking you to shirk your job. But you have to think of the others before your pride; if you pass out from fatigue it could be the death of us all. In any case, there's always Sheena – she proved to have quite a lead foot yesterday, and if need be I can give the keys to her."

A feeling rose in Arnold that he couldn't quite name as he watched Helga's grip on Curly's hand tightened, her head turning from her boss to the open hatch. The blonde let out a soul-cleansing sigh before shaking her head; he thought Helga was going to laugh, but the sound never left her mouth. Without speaking again, the little girl nodded to her own subordinate, giving her consent as he aided her up onto the seat.

Again the feeling rose, and grew stronger as he watched Curly move his palms from her hand to her waist. With a small grunt he heaved her up, helping to reduce the strain on her injured arm as she hoisted herself through the opening. As soon as her feet disappeared, Gammelthorpe returned his attention to the boss, who only shook her head and sighed. Before any other words could be said another body moved from the seat next to his, and Arnold watched in fascination as Rhonda skirted her way to the hatch as well.

"Rhonda . . ." Curly started, but she stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. In the dim light Arnold couldn't tell what kind of look she was sending him.

"I have to." was all the rich man's daughter muttered before she herself was up and out of the bus. They could hear the soft and hushed voices of the girls on the roof, but any words they spoke were lost. Slowly, Arnold sat up and wandered over to Curly and Chava, plopping down next to the navigator amid the quiet of the vehicle.

"Will she be okay?" His voice was small within their metal casing, and the Gammelthorpe turned to look at him sharply, eyes narrowing at all the possible things he could say.

"Will _**you**_ be okay?" the pointed question shocked the football headed fourth grader, and Arnold looked down at the hands in his lap as he thought. He would never see his grandparents or the boarders again. Abner was probably dead and _eaten_ along with everyone else he knew and cared for, save those in Rita. A sickening feeling clenched his stomach, and he had to fight the urge to vomit as beside him Curly smirked dejectedly. The optimist's silence was answer enough for him.

"Then why on earth would _**she**_ be okay?" there was a verbal punch accompanying the retort as Arnold shook his head much to the sad amusement of Curly. Arnold was the most naïve of their group, and if he could get the football head to come to terms with the situation, than the rest would be a piece of cake. So to speak.

"I don't know, I guess it's because she's the one keeping us all grounded. If she's not okay then I know none of us will be. She's always been so strong, and to see her buckle isn't good." Arnold felt better, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulder, but the soft chuckle from the boy next to him served as reminder that it takes two for a conversation. And it was becoming obvious the longer the laugh went on that Thaddeus still had peace to say.

"She acts strong for that very reason Arnold. Come on, you do realize that she's just another ten year old like the rest of us right? She's not Rambo, man, no matter how much she tries. She's been narrowing all her focus on keeping us safe and alive – put her own butt on the line more than once – that she's bound to break sooner or later. I just hope that should that day come, you'll be able to help her in the way she needs us. She just hasn't buckled; not yet anyway."

Again, Arnold had no response to the boy next to him. If Helga did lose it, would he have the ability to help her the way she's helped them? She tried to save Peter at the risk of her own life and humanity – could he do the same should the occasion arise?

He didn't like the silence that echoed around his head, mirroring the silence echoing within the bus.

"I don't think Helga will crack easily, nor do I think she'd be the type to explode without warning. She's the kind of warrior who will hide her troubles, crumbling away in silence piece by piece until there is nothing left to break away. The trick is to see the signs before she's lost – but I have faith in her. And I have faith in you, strange as it is. If anyone can survive and grow from this shithole, it'd be the fourth grade class of P.S. 118." Chava's voice broke into their conversation, and Arnold found himself nodding absentmindedly, gazing up at the hole in the roof.

"What do you think they're talking about?" he asked quietly, and a few silent seconds passed before anyone answered.

"Probably the thing on everyone's mind lately." Was Chava's response, and it was quiet again before Mr. Simmons, sitting motionlessly in one of the front seats, piped in.

"You mean eating."

Those conscious turned their focus to the man they knew as their fourth grade teacher, all confused except for Curly who laughed as quietly as he could. Chava just looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain. His faraway eyes returned to the attention he was receiving, but he still had the presence of mind to blush at the realization that he had voiced his thoughts.

"You mean the thing eating everyone's mind lately." He elaborated somberly, and though Curly laughed again, the humor faded from the cabin of the bus. The group fell once again into an uneasy silence.

_***O***_

"Helga?" the voice of Rhonda Wellington Lloyd was soft against the quiet of the early morning as she heaved herself out of the roof hatch. There sat the blonde, a silent sentinel against the dawn twilight. She had propped her feet up on the slight lip of the front of the bus, wounded arm hanging useless on her thigh. Her rifle was positioned between her legs, not aimed but ready should the need arise. At the sound of her name the young warrior looked over her shoulder, and though her eyes glinted of something Rhonda couldn't name, Helga's face remained stoic.

Placing herself quietly beside her comrade, Rhonda looked out over the same horizon, although she didn't know what they were watching. The pair remained silent, trying to remember what the birds of morning used to sound like before they were hushed with death. Before the raven haired dulcet beauty could say a word, Helga rolled her shoulders in an effort to ease the ache.

"It'll be morning soon." She commented, looking sideways into the face of her subordinate. Rhonda gaped at her for a moment, before the tears started to run down her cheeks.

"Helga . . . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She blubbered, fat and unappealing droplets falling from her eyes. At this Helga turned to face her fully, concern and confusion painting her own pale cheeks.

"What are you sorry for, Princess?" she asked, and Rhonda clapped a hand over her mouth in an effort to stifle her sobs as she broke down further. Even in her hysteria she had the presence of mind to try to keep quiet lest she attract unwanted creatures. It was after several failed attempts to respond that she gave up trying, to which Helga sighed with a sudden understanding.

"You're sorry for what? For saving my neck? If it wasn't for you and your bad aim, Rhonda, I probably wouldn't be here to keep your butts alive. You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone has to be sorry for anything, it's me."

Rhonda's head shot up like a bullet, and her wide wet eyes stared at her classmate with something akin to awe. Her sobs had all but ceased, reduced to nothing but silent tears and hiccups as she lowered her hand. She could only voice one word.

"Wha?"

Helga's smirk was fractured by her emotions as she fixed her gaze on the unattainable horizon. It seemed that everything which represented her hopes and her dreams was always out of her reach.

"You know exactly what I mean. Twice now I have been given a test, and twice now I've failed. My grades aren't letters, they're lives. We're now two men down – Bobby and Peter are both dead because of my mistakes." As composed as her voice stood, Rhonda could see the shaking in her companion's hands. This was new and foreign to her, the girl's loss of composure. Helga was always so strong and sure of herself when her classmates needed her, and the Princess of P.S. 118 was unsure of how to comfort her.

"Helga?" she asked again, uncertainty obvious in her small voice. The blonde either didn't hear her or wasn't listening.

"I've already lost two, I can't lose anymore. I can't lose anymore."

That was all she managed out before the tears overwhelmed her, lodging a lump in her throat as her stone façade crumbled away. It was here that Rhonda awkwardly sprang into action, wrapping a warm arm around the girl's shoulder as she openly wept, whispering soft _it'll be okay_s. And then she started crying again too.

That was how they greeted the morning sun of the new day; crying on the roof of the tank-bus, mourning the loss of their normalcy. Much like they had all the days previous since the start of the apocalypse.

Except that they were not alone this time.

_***O***_

Ten minutes later the girls slid back into the cavity of the bus, faces composed and bond all the stronger. Rhonda helped her injured companion down through the opening, surprised to find that besides Curly and Chava, up and about now were Mr. Simmons, Arnold and Sheena. The rest slept deep but fitfully.

Sheena was up by the driver, asking questions about how the bus drives and moves, while Arnold and Curly sat on the leather behind them speaking quietly amongst themselves. Mr. Simmons watched it all without saying a word, although he did stand when Rhonda's feet touched the metal of the floor. He moved for Helga when she too landed, but stopped when said blonde girl shook her head. She made her way quickly to the woman she affectionately called Boss, nodding assuredly to Curly along the way.

"The roads are clear until about three quarters of a mile out, where a fog's rolled in. It's hard to tell, but I think it might be heavy." Helga rattled off the report, voice hoarse from emotion as Chava listened. Nodding as she calmly turned the screwdriver, Chava eased the bus into a gentle roar before standing. Those awake remained quiet as they watched their leader motion for Sheena to take the wheel. The young pacifist could only look on with wide, frightened eyes.

"Go ahead Turbo, take her for a spin."

Sheena needed no other coaxing. Slipping into the offered seat with a suppressed nervous laugh, the brunette gripped the wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Looking over her shoulder she waited for the Boss to nod her approval before she shifted the large bus into drive. Extending her legs out to reach the pedals, she gave it a few tentative surges which caused all the bodies inside to sway back and forth. Through her timidity a hand grabbed her shoulder and she jumped – her foot landed on the gas and everyone fell out of the seats as she gave a ferocious battle cry. Helga laughed, grabbing her wound as she felt the healing scabs tear and break apart from the gauze. The warm blood soaked the bandage, the red badge glaring at anyone who looked at her arm.

"Sheena! SHEENA! Lay off the gas!" Curly shouted from his position on the floor, trying to keep his own hysterical laughter in check. Startled, the pacifist pulled her foot from the pedal suddenly, and the whole bus jolted what seemed to be backwards for a moment.

"Baby steps, Turbo, baby steps." Chava chided gently as she patted the girl's thigh, heaving herself up with the same motion. Sheena nodded again, an embarrassed blush dusting her high cheekbones, but she had the sense to carefully press the accelerating pedal. They were doing an easy forty miles an hour by the time they reached the outer beginnings of the fog.

At first it was a few wisps, stretching across the road like fingers; quickly it morphed into one solid mass. Within a matter of feet the visibility all but disappeared as the drizzle picked up. Fumbling around with the controls, Sheena was both pleased and surprised when she hit the lever that worked the wiper blades. The ride remained quiet even though all heads were awake, silence descending like the fog outside.

Near the driver seat sat Mr. Simmons, still as much as a nervous wreck as ever. His hands were shaking as he watched the road quickly appear and disappear through the windshield. There was a tune on his lips that at first only Curly and Chava heard – swiftly he gathered volume and the rest of the children heard it too.

"Mhmm mhmm mmmm mhhhhm mhmm. Mhmmhm mhhmmmhm. Dad a dadadada . . ." he lost the tune for a moment, and while he tried to find it Eugene – of all people Eugene – picked it up.

"I will prevail, I will not bail. You may have thrown me out the door but I won't cry or weep or wail . . ." a few more students filled in, not caring that they knew the words to a one-hit-wonder song from the 1970s.

"I'll weather this storm too, oh I'll keep on smiling through . . ." they grew louder with each voice that joined it.

"And while I'm turning blue I'll simply send my thanks to you . . ." it didn't matter that they sounded like complete idiots, shouting a song they had only ever heard from their teacher.

"I will prevail!"

"I will prevail!"

"I will prevail!"

They finished strong; off key and with no tune, but strong. Everyone aboard felt better, as if a weight had been temporarily lifted off their shoulders and they could take on the world.

And that is exactly what Sheena did when an unexpected pedestrian crossed her path.

Although there really wasn't much chance to avert collision, she would later admit that she had in fact sped up. Someone behind her shouted _zombie, _and she issued another blood thirsty battle cry as the walker only had enough time to turn its rotting head their way.

Moments later there was a small amount of blood spray on the windshield and a thump from the bus charging over the body.

"Nice job Sheena." It was odd for the tall brunette to hear a complement from the class bully, but Sheena was hastily realizing that the world she knew was changing. The blonde patted her on the shoulder, and Sheena felt a sudden and strong sense of companionship. It pulled on her heart so fiercely she almost felt the need to cry – but just as it had come it was gone.

The drive became quite once more as fog swallowed the world.

_**~O~**_

"Oh my _**goodness**_. _Stop_ the **bus**!"

Rhonda shot from the seat she was sharing with Nadine three rows back like a CO2 rocket, catching herself on the dash and nearly giving poor Sheena a heart attack. The startled driver slammed her long leg and big foot onto the break, throwing everyone from their seats. That included a displeased thirty five year old woman who had just moments ago been snoring lightly and perhaps even peacefully.

"What the hell, man?" she asked in a daze, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as her cap fell from her head. It took a few feet for the bus to come to a complete stop, but once it had everyone bore witness to Rhonda bouncing giddily and exclaiming her joy – although what she was so excited about was anyone's guess.

"There's a river, a creek, a stream, _**something**_ over there! We **have** to stop and take a rest; I can hardly breathe in here!" she gushed, half the student body groaning while the others quickly got out of their seats as well. Helga and Curly immediately turned to Chava; they were well aware just how nasty the air was within the bus, having nowhere to go, but the choice was up to their Boss.

Chava, to her own credit, took her time in sitting up from the floor she'd been forced to meet, popping joints and cracking her neck. She let the idea float around in her head, pointedly ignoring the hopeful looks the fourth graders sent her as one collective being – her eyes closed on their own as she went through every possible scenario.

"Oh come on lady, you don't smell like roses and sunshine yourself." Without an attempt at being discreet, Chava tested the theory herself by lifting own of her arms and taking a good whiff.

"_**Whoo**_, boy do I reek. Alright; you guys win. Turbo, pull off onto the wide shoulder just before the bridge, Phoebe get the soap. Muscles and Curly, you two grab the food and matches. That water's gonna be cold, and we have no towels."

With a cry of happiness, Rhonda grabbed Nadine's hand and the pair were off the bus as soon as the doors were open. They half skipped, half tripped their way to the sign near the bridge, and it was the taller of the two whom read it out loud to her gathering classmates.

"Dead Opossum Creek? Oh my word." Just as she turned on her heel to flee, a large hand stopped her.

"Calm down Rhonda. It's just a name." Patty's quiet, friendly voice was a sound Rhonda hadn't heard in some time, and she was relieved to know the bigger girl wasn't so traumatized she would never speak again.

"Yeah Princess. Besides, you're the one who wanted to stop for a bath." The snarky blonde had wandered her way over to the growing group, her hand holding tightly to her arm in an effort to stop the bleeding and stem the pain. As it was, the feeling was still seeping back into her wound and had become hard to ignore.

"Right, well, right. Ok, sure, so, how do we do this?"

All grew silent in thought. They couldn't all bathe together naked, they were ten. But if they got their clothes wet they might get sick – whose know how long it would take to dry. And they had no towels.

"Well I thought that would be obvious. We strip down and wash off." Chava's normally bitey tone was suppressed into one of mild annoyance as she began to make her way down the embankment. Torvald and Curly flanked her, while Rhonda shot a surprised glance at Helga – the blonde only shrugged before heading towards the slow moving water as well.

This was wrong; sure they had all swum together before, but this was different. They had swimsuits on then. Here they would be naked. _**Naked**_. And together. In plain sight.

"Mr. Simmons!" Rhonda nearly shrieked when she saw Curly set his duffle bag down and bend to peel off his Christmas sweater. Simmons was a sensible man, he would speak up.

"What's the big deal? You'll probably all be banging each other in a few years anyway." Chava shouted up from the water, and Rhonda nearly fainted as she flushed with mortification and indignation.

"_Mr. Simm_-"

"She's right Rhonda. I mean, hopefully not about the other business, but I suppose we all have to adjust and get over our own special insecurities."

For the first time in anyone's memory, Robert Simmons didn't baby his fourth grade class. There was not a single clear moment any of them could recall where her _hadn't_ coddled and protected and nurtured them; his own vain way of trying to provide for them the kind of care he never received. Even before he told his mother about his special tastes.

It was all too much for Lila.

The red head fainted as promptly as the Princess of the Fourth Grade laughed hysterically. But she let Nadine take her hand as Gerald and Sid tried to revive Lila. When she came to, the country bumpkin – taking in the sight of the stripping children and turning red – spun around as fast as she could and all but ran back onto the bus.

She didn't come out again.

Arnold sighed as he watched her go, pulling off his shirts and making a conscious effort not to turn his head and peek at the girls.

Mr. Simmons almost found it in him to laugh at the sight of his class just then. They stood in two big groups – naturally one girls and one boys – and didn't say a word as they quickly stripped down to their underwear. It was when they reached the last layer of clothing that the bodies hesitated; not a single face was untouched by the pre-pubescent blush. He wasn't the least bit surprised when it was Helga and Curly who led the way by removing the last bits of fabric and wading into the cold waters.

"_Criminy_!" the shout was bitten back as the water hit her unprotected, pale thighs, and Mr. Simmons did laugh as he moved down the embankment to join the boys.

Teeth chattering as they passed around the bars of soap, most tried not to look at the opposite gender as they scrubbed off the grime and blood. A few, namely Sid, Iggy, Brainy, and Nadine kept sneaking glances, eyes filled with curiosity and wonder. Rhonda would flick her best friend in the arm every now and again when she caught her wandering eye, but other than that no advances were made between the two sexes. Mr. Simmons could only think that this was a much better idea than the dreaded videos he had planned in the next few weeks.

"I wonder why Lila done run away like she did." Stinky ventured to speak as he lathered up his arm pits.

"Maybe she is just far too modest." Lorenzo offered as he fought to keep his dark eyes on the water below him. Sure the girls were a few feet away, but he could still hear their splashing, and it wasn't as if they tried to remain quiet.

"Or maybe she just didn't want to get sick? What do you think Brainy?" Eugene asked, bending over in an effort to clean his legs.

_Caught!_ Brainy worried in his mind when he realized he wasn't following the conversation, but rather the water as it splashed against Phoebe's thighs.

"Uh . . . I dunno." He wheezed, hoping that Gerald hadn't noticed him ogling the girl. Everyone knew the black boy was sweet on the Asian.

"Whatever the reason, I just know I'm not going to be sitting next to her one the bus – compared to us sweet-smelling daisies she's gonna stink." Helga's voice from directly behind Stinky forced the boys into momentarily paralysis. Sure, she and the tall boy were back to back, but the very idea that she was so close, _**naked**_, was overwhelming.

"You know you wouldn't have sat next to her anyway, Helga." Arnold shot over his shoulder, and only had enough time to join in the laughter he caused before a large splash hit him in the back. He nearly turned around, but when he heard Helga's cackle he decided to turn bright red at the thought of turning around instead.

"Now class, don't be mean to poor Lila. She's probably just feeling a little – oh dear, Sid! Stinky! Stop horsing around before both you boys _drown_!"

The majority of the class laughed at the antics of the best friends before finishing up; Arnold was glad for the change of subject, though he was startled when he felt the sudden and brief warmth of another body _**so close**_ to his. He knew, just knew that it was Helga, but as swift as it was there it was gone, with none the wiser but the pair. Without warning his mind wandered back to a time not so long ago –

_Maybe I don't hate you as much as I thought, Ok? I guess I kind of, I kind of like you a little. Heck, I guess you might even say I like you a lot._

– what had they been talking about on that roof that led to her speaking like that? He could remember finding out that she was Deep Voice, and that they had saved the neighborhood, but everything else was a blue. Fragments that were slowly coming together, but he was still just missing that one vital piece –

"Hey Arnold! Come on man, what are you still doing in the water?" Gerald's voice cut through his thoughts like her potato alarm clock, and Arnold was suddenly aware that he was standing naked and alone in the Dead Opossum Creek. With a blush he dunked his head into the lazy water one last time, rinsing out the last of the suds and trying to reclaim his thoughts. But they were lost, always out of reach, eluding him like the fly in his Grandma's hand.

_Grandma_.

That thought hurt so much he thought he really would drown. Jettisoning himself out of the water her gasped for breath, the pain in his heart greater than it ever had been. He had been doing such a good job at keeping the memories at bay but that one loose thought had been all that was needed to break the damn of his resistance, and suddenly he was assaulted by faces.

Struggling through the water, Arnold slowly made his way to the bank, moving over to the rest of the kids. They all sat shivering as Torvald struck a matched and did his best to ignite some leave and twigs he'd found for kindling. Once the spark caught, Patty tossed on a few decent sized branches and the warmth of the blaze began to take hold. All eyes were initially kept on the flames, hands placed delicately over growing private parts.

Suddenly, Helga laughed Arnold was startled to find he had been sitting right beside her.

"You know, when this school year started, I really didn't think I would end up sitting around a fire naked and wet in the middle of a zombie apocalypse." And here she laughed again. Phoebe soon joined her, Park after that, and before long all the students and their chaperones were sharing a good laugh.

Lila remained in the bus.

"Helga, I want to stitch up your arm." Most were surprised when Phoebe hadn't asked, but more informed her best friend and boss what her intentions were. Helga wasn't; she nodded and tightened her hold on her legs as they came up to her chest.

"Better do it now while my arm is still numb from the cold."

Quickly Phoebe nodded, and dashed up to the bus while all the boys turned their heads. Well, all but one.

Chava moved to rummage through the food bag, she pulled out a couple boxes of the granola bars, and was delighted to find a can of chili con carne and a box of saltines. Opening both boxes swiftly she passed them around before grabbing a knife and jabbing it into the top of the can. She jiggled it back and forth in an attempt to open it, suppressing the laugh threatening to bubble out her mouth at the sight of her breasts shaking back and forth.

Fumbling around for a pot, she managed to bend the aluminum top back enough to scrap out the chili and dumped it into the Teflon holder. She held it above the fire and stirred it occasionally, enjoying the warmth and the sound of the granola being opened and consumed.

"Where did you learn that?" Joey asked, and she noted that the little black boy was sitting awfully close to the larger Torvald. Fighting back a smirk she smiled, waiting patiently for the meat and beans to boil.

"I was a boy scout in another life."

It was by this time that Phoebe had returned, still as naked as the day she was born, only now she had Lila in tow. The redhead had her eyes strictly on the ground, and quickly moved to sit in between Sheena and Nadine – she quietly accepted the granola bar that was offered her although she didn't dare meet the eyes of whoever handed it to her. Phoebe was almost instantly by Helga's side, the home doctor's supplies for surgery clamped tightly in her hands. The girl's met eyes, and the blonde nodded while digging her nails into her palms.

Arnold heard the hiss of anticipation come from the girl beside him, and stared intently at the flames before it became too much for him to bear. His hand shot of from his lap and took Helga's, although he couldn't look at her. Phoebe let out a shaky breath before bunching the skin of Helga's wound together and pushing the needle through.

"I didn't think you'd be the type to drive like that. Where'd it come from?" Chava lightly asked the brunette four bodies over. Sheena looked up, startled from her thoughts, and blushed clear down the column of her neck and below the fold of her arms – where Eugene's gaze tried not to linger.

"I don't, I don't really know. I don't like blood, and violence makes me sick – but when I was behind the wheel, and those creatures were in my path, I don't know. My heart was racing and it was exciting, and I liked the feeling." Her blush lightened, and she averted her eyes from Chava's hard stare back to the flames.

"I think you did a good job Sheena." Eugene murmured, and her blush instantly returned. Those were the first words he had spoken to her in almost three days. Silence descended on the camp once again as Chava passed around the pot of boiling chili and the crackers. They would dip a cracker in and scoop out a bite, then pass along the pot and crackers again.

"Anyone have a good book?" Helga's voice broke the quiet, and everyone was quiet before Iggy stood slowly, in all his naked glory, and moved quickly to his jacket pocket. When he returned to the fire circle, in his hands was a white paperback, worn from use and love. He knew they wouldn't have much time in the calm before the storm, but he would read as quickly as he could in the time he was given.

"Chapter One:

"A squat grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World State's motto, COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY . . ."

HA


	10. The Migration: Part One

_**Disclaimer: I know I was gone for a long time, and I'm not sorry for that. Nothing affects life more than life, and I've had plenty of it over the last year. Betcha thought I was dead, huh? Well I'm not, not yet anyway. A special thanks to , whose review gave me the much needed boost to crank out this bitch. This one will be on the shorter side, because I've got some ideas rolling around in my brain and this was the best way to achieve them. I don't own Hey! Arnold.**_

HA

Overall Phoebe was pleased with her work. Her stitches were consistent and small, the product of a drive to become a great doctor and hours of cross stitching with her mother. _Her mother_. Shaking away those thoughts that brought painful memories, she occupied herself by placing a home-made band-aid onto her friend's pale skin.

Iggy's voice flexed and moved with an emotion they were surprised to hear come from the cool kid of P.S. 118. He was becoming excited, losing himself in the words and forgetting the dire situation they were in. Some of the class became lost with him, closing their eyes and imagining the scenes he was describing. Others held small conversations, eyes generally on the fire or the sky above – anywhere but the naked skin of their comrades.

Helga stiffened considerably when they heard – presumably – a pack of dogs howling in the distance. Their cries grew closer before dying off, but Iggy kept right on reading.

"'Suffer little children,' said the Controller… Slowly, majestically, with a faint humming of the machinery, the Conveyors moved forward, thirty-three centimetres an hour. In the red darkness glinted innumerable rubies."

The howling was back, much closer and more frantic than before. Suddenly it morphed into aggressive barking, then several quick, sharp whines, then stopped completely. Helga stood, her hand ripping from Arnold's grasp as she met eyes with Chava. An uncomfortable silence strained the group as their leader also stood up, snuffing out the low flames of the fire.

"Inside."

They didn't need a second warning.

Grabbing their clothes and provisions, the large group of nude ten year olds bolted for the bus, all shame of one another's skin forgotten. Chava laughed as she grabbed the chili pot and her clothes and followed Simmons – the teacher's exposed backside shaking as his tender feet were assaulted by rough terrain. The moment she was inside and the doors winched shut behind her, she along with several others crammed up against the windshield in efforts to see outside.

There was no slow trickle like the fog. One minute the road was empty save for the bus, the next it hosted a slew of undead. Some were missing limbs, arms or legs, some had fresh blood and fur matted to their mouths and clinging to their fingers. Clothes were torn and dirty from exposure, and several were bloated and blue.

Lila had to slam a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream as those within the sanctuary of the bus watched the zombies stumble around in search of the source of sounds that had drawn them. Mimicking the creatures outside, a few kids brave enough to move slowly redressed. Helga grimaced as the coarse material rubbed against her cold skin, her eyes never leaving the horde.

"Why are there so many of them?" Phoebe whispered beside her, but the blonde said nothing as Gerald placed a hand on the Japanese girl's shoulder.

"Where did they come from?" his voice too was low, as if any louder and the creatures would somehow manage to get in. A very real and tangible fear. Curly moved up to the dash, his pale and skinny chest shivering in the cold atmosphere. He had at least pulled his pants on, but the image he cut as he bent over the atlas made him look older and strained. Rhonda – as she zipped up her own jeans and watched him – had the feeling that although they were still very much in the present, she was somehow looking into the future as well.

"We're not too far from Grey's River; a mile or so at most. They must have come from there when the food ran out." He seemed to startle himself with his own mutterings, and Helga sighed as she moved up to stand next to him. The remaining students still naked gradually came to their senses, moving quietly into their own secluded corners as they dressed. A few would jump as the zombies outside stumbled and bumped into the yellow bus. Some held their breath, afraid even their slightest sound would alert the predators.

"What happened to your shirt?" Chava asked as she eyed the fourth grader next to her, who still hadn't gone to fetch coverings for his torso. The Gammelthorpe visibly deflated at the mention of his beloved Christmas sweater.

"I dropped it."

She laughed softly, although her eyes moved to the mass of zombies out the windshield and didn't return. Rhonda slowly made her way up to the three of them, and she didn't miss the way Curly shuddered when she placed a hand on his unclad shoulder. Nodding her head she motioned over to Lila, who had this calm sort of hysteria washing over her as she eyed Helga.

"I wonder if Peapod Kid is out there." She mused loud enough for everyone to hear, although no one said anything until Mr. Simmons noticed the way Helga's fists clenched. Fearing a physical altercation, he moved to intercept the two girls but was woefully too late.

"Lila-"

"I doubt it but your dad probably is."

All life within Rita stopped.

Helga knew exactly what she had said, and it was purposeful. She had wanted to hurt Little Miss Perfect as badly as the red head had been hurting her. The small but sharp pains that had been pulsing within her at every jab were screaming for vengeance – whether those jabs were meant to be heard or not made no never mind. The girls stared each other down as their classmates sank into the surrounding seats. From the front of the bus, Curly and Chava watched.

"Helga-" Simmons started again, but the blonde girl talked right over him.

"Hurts, doesn't it? I'm glad, because that's why I said it. I want you to hurt. To take that knife within your heart and twist it, to make you want to cry, to make you want to hit me. Go ahead, _hit me_. Slap me across the face or punch me in the stomach."

The tension was too much, the hostility and the tension and the fear was just too much. Harold stood up suddenly in preparation for something, though he wasn't sure what – Patty pushed him right back down. Her eyes never left the blonde girl who she hardly recognized now.

"_Helga-_"

"I want you to hurt so bad your eyes will open and realize that the world has changed. Being delicate in the face of your feelings hasn't done squat, so maybe this will work instead: everyone you know, is dead. Everyone you love, is dead. The only survivors you can count on are the ones on this bus _**right now**_. Stop the delusions of seeing anyone with a pulse and cravings for food other than human flesh; stop whining at me about how you think what I'm doing is wrong. That there is a cure. I don't care anymore, and I don't care to listen to you anymore.

"As it is, the only ones keeping your butt alive are me, Curly and Chava. Now if you have any better ideas on survival, then by all means get off this bus and do it. But I won't tolerate your whimpering and complaining about my methods. And I won't have you making snide comments about the ones I couldn't keep alive; they are my burden and I don't need you reminding me." When she stopped talking but didn't turn away, Lila became aware that Helga was expecting her to say something. No one else seemed to possess the ability to speak at that point. And those who did remained quiet.

"I . . . I'm sorry." She whispered, and Helga sighed, crossing her arms.

"I don't want an apology. That doesn't do anyone any good."

"Then what do you want from me?" her shout echoed around the small cabin of the bus, and even Arnold was shocked the red head had it in her to raise her voice.

"I want you to man up." With that, Helga turned and made her way up to the front, but not before she stopped at Sheena's seat. With a sedating smile, she motioned for the taller pacifist to join her. She nodded and stood, ignoring Eugene who went to keep her seated – Helga's outburst had made him uncomfortable. He thought Sheena felt the same.

Chava was bending over the atlas with Curly, Simmons sitting in the seat behind them. He noticed all the little pairs of eyes following Helga as she walked, knew she felt the burn of their gazes on her back. And like the true hard-ass she was molding into, she ignored it all.

"We've got about twenty miles or so before we reach the 101." Thaddeus was saying, and the pair looked up when the girls arrived.

"Hear that Turbo? Twenty miles – think you can make it?" Sheena looked around at the faces of her comrades, before giving a shaky nod of her head.

"Ye-yes. I can make it." she caught Helga's glance and the girls shared a genuine smile as Sheena slid into the driver's seat.

"Clear a path or plow the road?" Chava was surprised when her question garnered a grin, not so much sadistic as it was cocky. The young woman flexed her grip on the steering wheel before shaking her head.

"I-I think I want to plow." Quiet though it was, Sheena's voice was full of confidence in not only her leaders, but in herself as well. Helga grinned as she grabbed Curly by the shoulder and threw him into the nearest empty seat. Plopping down next to him, she met mirthful eyes with Mr. Simmons before returning her gaze to her Commander. The older woman remained standing against the dashboard, eyes hard as she watched the undead creatures ahead of them stumble around like drunks. Sheena looked up curiously, feeling more certain with every passing second. Chava said not a word, didn't even turn her head to meet the girl's face – all she did was nod. And it was enough.

Another battle cry erupted from normally quiet pacifist as she brought the large bus to life and slammed her foot on the gas. Spinning her wheels for half a second, Sheena shifted the vehicle from neutral into drive and throttled the makeshift tank forward. The passengers behind her gripped and grabbed for the leather seats in front of them, their only source of stability as they were thrown around. Loud thumps could be heard as they plowed over the obstacle on the roadway.

While all the other undead fell beneath the plow of that old bus, one managed to grab on to a protruding piece of metal. Climbing up slowly, he reached for something he couldn't see but knew was there – if he knew anything at all of course. Just as he crested the hood and was inches away from the windshield, Chava turned her head in Helga's direction.

"Clean the windshield."

Laughing the little blonde girl stood, only to be pushed down by Curly. Her classmate gave a pointed glance at the wound on her arm before moving towards the roof hatch. Throwing it open, he popped his body out enough to get decent aim, and fired the gun. It all happened simultaneously to the kids inside as they watched the creature's head get forced back, then he slowly slid down the hood, only to be caught on something. Chava groaned.

At least he was no longer a threat, but he sure made one ugly hood ornament.

"Eww." A chorus from Helga, Curly, Mr. Simmons, Rhonda, Arnold, and Eugene probably would have been one of the funniest things Chava had heard in a long time, were it not for the memory it stirred of her daughter. That and the immediate threat of the zombies being squashed and squished rather morbidly beneath their tires.

"_Get_ _out_ of my _**way**_!" Sheena all but snarled, foot pressing down even harder on the pedal as the roadway gradually cleared of the infected infestation. As the last of the bumps and splats died down, she eased up, eyes trained on the asphalt before her although she wasn't really seeing anything.

As conversation slowly picked up where the excitement left off, Torvald quietly made his way to the back where Lila had hidden herself. Her cheeks were still tinged a light pink at being scolded in front of the class, but it was nowhere near the burning red it had been. Her eyes never left the hands in her lap, even as he sat down beside her. They were silent for a few precious moments, before she finally spoke what was on her mind.

"She is ever so right, you know." Her voice was low, and when he saw Joey stand to move towards them he shook his head. As much as he was taking a liking to the little black boy, Lila needed this moment alone to get her thoughts off her chest. Honestly he didn't even think that she knew who was sitting next to her – but if someone else joined them she would notice and may never open up again.

"I wanted to hit her _ever so badly_. To slap that look off her face. Not because she hurt my feelings, but because she is right; she is _ever so right_. And I hate her for the fact that she could recognize what was going on before anyone else. I hate that she's not the bully anymore, that she's changed, that nothing will be the same and she's handling it better than I am." The redhead was quiet again, and Torvald was trying to decide whether he should try to comfort her now or just leave, when she spoke again.

"She's stronger than me, and I hate her ever so much for that, too." All he could do was take her hand and hold it. He couldn't tell her that wasn't true, because it was. Helga was very much stronger than her, but for all the wrong reasons that were not his to tell. That her home life had been difficult, that she had to be strong to survive or be eaten alive. But Lila was strong as well; she had the strength to admit her faults, to voice the darkness that had begun consuming her mind.

He didn't though. Just sat in the back and held her hand, wishing he could be as strong as his younger classmates who could talk about their feelings.

_**H*A**_

Ten minutes later and Rita was rolling into Grays River, or what was left of it. The town was deserted; the vehicles left were parked neatly by the curb in front of the church, restaurant, and gas station. That was really all the town was: Haunsaker Oil Chevron gas station, Duffy's Irish Pub, Our Lady Star of the Sea Catholic Church, the local IGA, and of course Chava's only reason for stopping: Smith, Weston & Sons guns and supply, Grays River branch. Her excitement was beginning to show as she grabbed Sheena's shoulder and gestured toward the store front, amazed and a little on edge that the displays were still intact.

Slowing down and eventually stopping, Sheena put the bus into neutral and sat back, staring off down the road. She could be the driver, and she could mutilate the zombies with her wheels, but she could not be a raider. Not again, not after her Aunt Shelly.

And somehow, even though she didn't know these kids near enough to know their back stories, Chava understood that.

"Crazy, up on the roof, Kid, Big Dude, Football Head and Hair Boy, follow me. We're going for a walk." Pulling her hat on, Chava was well aware that the last time a group went on a raid, they came back one head short. She would be lying if she said she was not nervous; things could go bad, again, really quickly. Phoebe employed Nadine, Sid and Stinky and together they emptied a few of the Wall*Mart bags, passing them to the raiders silently. Sid shared a look with Helga and Torvald, the three had witnessed the same things in the supercenter and if he was going to be completely honest with himself Sid was glad he wasn't going this time.

Picking up her handgun, the older woman nodded to her group as they all armed themselves with rifles, Curly climbing out through the hatch and sitting cross-legged again. Rhonda watched him go before moving up to the dashboard as the raiding party exited the bus and cautiously made their way into the ammunitions store.

The walk was quiet as the small group made their way to the store, on edge when the little bells on the door tinkled their arrival. Inside the air was stale and old, like the world itself was decaying and not just the humans living on it; but there were no bodies on the floor. There were no bodies on the displays – there were no bodies anywhere. Nothing moved.

"You two get the guns, and you get the ammunition." Chava ordered as she jumped onto the counter and surveyed the store. Helga and Torvald immediately began using the butts of their rifles to smash the glass cases while Arnold and Gerald moved from aisle to aisle, saving time by simply sweeping the boxes off the shelves and directly into their bags. No one spoke.

They worked swiftly, and there was a collective sigh of relief when they left the store without incident. Chava was the last to reenter the bus – quickly she went over to their zombie ornament and kicked him off with no remorse. He was stuck, and she openly grimaced when part of his chest peeled off as he was finally detached. Gross.

"Alright let's head out. We've got another twenty miles before we reach the junction, and I'd like to make it before nightfall." Just as Sheena was rolling the bus down the road, Stinky moved forward to talk with Helga and Chava.

"I reckon I can't talk for everyone, but I'd sure like to know where we're headin." His southern drawl seemed strained, and Mr. Simmons could finally see that this episode was taking a heavy toll not only on those who rose to the occasion, but his other students as well.

"We're planning for Canada, but there's a small cluster of islands in the Puget Sound -" Chava began, but Park cut her off.

"The San Juan Islands. I used to live in Friday Harbor before we moved to Hillwood." The older woman nodded but kept right on talking as if she hadn't been interrupted.

"- that we are going to check out first. To avoid the mass undead as much as possible, we're going to take the 101; that leads us right to Port Angeles. From there, we can see if there's a working boat. If you have a better idea I'd like to hear it." The bus remained silent, and Stinky nodded with a smile and although there was no mirth in it, it was a comfort to see.

"Alright, I dun suppose I'll follow ya, seein as that sounds like the best plan so far." Rather than telling him he could follow whoever he damn-well pleased off the nearest cliff like she would have done in the past, Helga merely smiled.

"Ok Stretch."

And that was that. The ride remained calm for the rest of the ride to the junction, save for the quiet conversations. They didn't encounter another horde, no other vehicles, not even another town. At most they came across were tiny villages, more like outposts here and there – a few houses and driveway turnouts dotted the highway. The most exciting thing they saw besides the trees was the single gas station, where the pumps had been taken out by a freight truck. Several bodies littered the area, but by the time the school bus reach the scene the action had long been over.

It all made Chava nervous. She had thought that the best thing at the moment would be a peaceful drive down the road, with no zombie encounters. If it remained like that, then wouldn't there would be less death on her end. A win-win right? Apparently not, as the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood up, and her skin crawled in anticipation. The relief she was expecting never came, and she soon realized why.

It was the calm before the storm so to speak – the quieter it was now, the louder the bang she'd have to deal with later. More zombies. Faster zombies. More dead.

Looking back at Helga, Chava could read the same thoughts running across her own mind. The fact that this little ten year old girl was thinking about how many of her classmates -her friends - she would lose next time, when she should be thinking about boys hit the older woman hard. She shouldn't be forced to grow up so fast, none of them should. And in that moment, that was the biggest tragedy of them all.

HA


	11. The Migration: Part Two

_**Disclaimer: I think I've written enough of these that by now everyone should know: Hey! Arnold is in no way mine. If I received any sort of monetary compensation for writing these, albeit entertaining, stories, do you think I'd be working the service counter at Best Buy? Don't answer that. Sorry for such a long wait, but hey, absence makes the heart grow fonder, yeah? Don't answer that either. Honestly, I didn't realize how long it's been since I've posted for this one: time sure does fly by when you have to be a grownup. It sucks, don't do it. **_

HA

_A breeze. The sound of the waves on sand. Gulls squawking on the horizon. As Arnold opened his eyes he came to the slow realization that he was standing on a beach, and he wasn't alone. _

_It was the back he saw first, clad in a brown turtle neck, finished off in jeans and topped with short blonde hair. He walked toward the figure, the closer he became the more everything felt right. The figured turned, and he felt all the more at peace when it was the icy blue eyes of Helga that met his own. Her feet in the water the pair watched each other for what could have been forever before, slowly, she smiled. _

_Like the morning sun cresting the mountains she smiled at him and he felt warm and content. Nothing else mattered nor would ever again; all there was in the universe was him, her, and that smile._

Arnold awoke to the biting cold just before dawn, his jacket falling off his shoulders. As sleep gradually left his brain he realized a few very interesting things. First, that he was both shivering and stuck to the leather in an extremely uncomfortable way.

The second was that his hand was down his pants.

It was startling at first, feeling his fingers curling in his hair while touching his base in a not so familiar way. Looking around casually, he noticed that most of his friends, even his seatmate Gerald, were still sound asleep. And those that were awake paid no attention to him.

Slowly he pulled his hand free, wiping it subtly on the outside of his underwear before removing it altogether. Fighting temptation to sniff the appendage, he made a note wash his hand thoroughly the next time they stopped – sitting up he tried to grasp the dream he had been having. Something about a beach . . .

It was gone.

_**H*A**_

_Pop. Ping. Pop. Ping. Pop. Ping. Pop. Ping._

Chaotic though it was, there was a sense of pattern to the guns releasing the bullets, which in turn were hitting the road sign. Well, most of them were hitting the mark – there were still a few kids who hadn't mastered the art of aim quite yet. Chava stood behind the line of nine and ten year olds, watching carefully as they fired off their hands guns, looking for who was doing well and who needed more instruction.

"Hey Chief, the winds are changing. Clouds coming in promise rain." Gerald called out from where he was stationed on the roof of Rita. His rifle safely and securely nestled in his arms; he kept sparing glances at Phoebe, who would smile when she caught his eye. Her insides went warm when he flashed her a smile of his own, and it was only a friendly nudge from Helga that brought her back to the present.

"Alright. Squeeze off a few more then back on the bus; we have enough to worry about, don't want you kids getting sick too." Although the joke meant well, only a few laughed. With a smirk, Helga aimed and shot an _H_ into her designated sign, a little disappointed that the last shot was a little too far right. That kind of sloppiness could get somebody killed.

"_Helga_." Jumping nearly out of her skin and angry that again she was caught slacking, the blonde girl turned to see Brainy. She had to admit the kid could be pretty sneaky when he wanted – that could be useful in the immediate future.

"What's up?" He hadn't been able to meet her eyes since the river when he kept sparing glances, and Helga was surprised and pleased he met them now.

"Next time you go out I want to go too."

Well that was a shock.

"Hit the head of the driver on that sign." _That sign_ being the yellow caution for winding roads, Brainy shrugged with a ragged inhale before lifting the hand gun and taking aim.

"Uh . . . okay."

_Pop. Ping._ Bulls-eye.

"Criminy. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" the recluse with the glasses merely shrugged his shoulders with a wheeze.

"Uh . . . I dunno." Helga laughed. That was all she really could do – laugh, nod, and pat her friend on the back as she led him back onto the bus. As the door closed behind them and Gerald slid in from the roof, Sheena smiled and winched the bus into drive. She was pleased Chava hadn't made her take part in the shooting, although some part of her did argue that too much coddling could get her killed someday. Still, guns and blood and even the mere thought of violence made her queasy, all that gory red liquid splashing and spilling, bullets flying every which direction as screams filled the air and –

"Sheena, are you okay?" Eugene's voice broke through her morbid fantasy, and not a minute too soon. Already she was hyperventilating and turning green.

"Oh, um, I'm fine Eugene. Just, uh, fine."

The first few rolling moments were jerky.

_**H*A**_

Rita rolled to a sluggish stop as everyone on board sat unmoving. Chava, Helga and Curly stood up by the dashboard, arms crossed and bodies tense. All around them all they could see were trees, and the road that cut through them. To the right was a sign announcing the turn off for the 107, and road which would loop them back to the I5, the major city hubs, and undoubtedly death. Straight ahead was the 101, which would lead them through terrain that – apart from Aberdeen and Hoquiam – was largely uncharted. Who knows what they would come across in that land, which started with this dark and overpowering forest?

Of all the survivors on that bus, it was Sheena who broke the spell by looking up at her Commander. There was no fear in her eyes, only loyalty and trust that her captain would see them through to the end, where ever it was. Without removing her gaze from the road, Chava nodded.

Rita rolled forward, past the turn off and straight into the unknown.

_**H*A**_

"Are we there yet?" Chava was about ready to pick up the little fat one and chuck him out the window, loyalties be damned. Hell, he was enough of a porker that he should keep the zombies busy long enough for them to clear Cosmopolis at least, maybe even Hoquiam. They had only passed the junction not even fifteen minutes ago and he was already annoying the living sanity out of her.

"Are we there yet?" trying to count to ten like she used to do when she reached her boiling point, Chava was mildly surprised when she felt a hand on her arm. Meeting Helga's hard stare, she was again stricken with how old this kid looked.

"I want to hit him too." And then she had to pinch the bridge of her nose because she was just reminded that her second-in-command was still just a ten year old little girl. As the fat kid opened his mouth again, Chava whirled on him, figure raised in a threat.

"Ask if we're there yet one more time and I swear you are going out that window."

Although Helga seemed unfazed and Curly outright laughed, it was Harold who looked like he was going to cry. Just as his eyes took on the glisten of tears waiting to be shed, he smirked and they were gone.

"So, what did you do for work before this, _Madam Fortress Mommy_?" although there was a taunt in his voice, Harold was still rational enough that he was at least three seats away and blocked by Park and Phoebe. This time Helga did laugh, but she hid it in her hand and thought that Chava deserved that titled more than she did by light-years.

The bus was quiet as the challenge had been issued.

"I think I liked it better when you were annoying me." Turning back to the windshield, Chava was surprised when it was Helga who cornered her.

"Pink Boy has a point – what _did_ you do before?" those ten year old blue eyes met her brown ones, and Chava was taken back to the day she met them – it seemed so long ago. When Helga had taken a rifle from her bag and so easily shot a creature in the head just to save a stranger. Then she remembered that these little brats were trying to weasel out her personal information and the indignation arrived.

"It doesn't matter."

She brushed them off just like that, and this time no one tried to corner her. They let her turn away, and she released a shaky breath –

"Yes it does. Otherwise you'd be no better than those men at the pump station. What happened?"

– she should have known better. Of everyone on that bus, a part of her was glad it was Simmons that revealed the real question, and not one of the kids. She'd be damned if she was that transparent.

"I worked in City Hall as one of the Mayor's aides. In the early hours when the shit only just started to hit the fan, I was tasked with working alongside the police to keep her informed. After just a few meetings with the Chief of Police I knew something was wrong, I mean really wrong – more than just a mere increase in crime and violence. I had seen these men and women being brought into the station, their strange behavior, their lack of recognition of anything. I informed the Mayor of my suspicions. But I was too late.

"By then Madam Mayor had declared a state of emergency, which quickly led to an evacuation of the cabinet and a total breakdown of government due to the panic. Ignoring my better judgment I went to get my daughter from preschool. I found the building all but decimated; her classroom full of those corpses feeding off of other corpses – my daughter among them. She came at me, and I shot her.

"From there I went to our apartment and gathered what basic necessities I could carry. I took a car, stole from the gun shop, and ended up driving past P.S. 118 on my way out of the city. The rest you know."

The bus was quiet for a time, before Sid spoke up, scratching the back of his neck.

"Boy Howdy, so, uh, how did you learn to shoot like you do?"

Chava laughed, and it wasn't a hollow sound like they were expecting.

"I was a conspiracy theorist – as well as the only daughter to a New York cop in a family of five boys. Shooting came as naturally as breathing."

The ride became quiet once more as the kids digested this new information of their leader. And while Chava was glad for it, after a few minutes she began to hear that high pitched whine in her ear that just bugged the absolute crap out of her. Reaching down, she flicked on the radio, turning through several channels of static before finding a moderately solid feed.

"…_gave rock 'n roll to you, gave rock 'n roll to you – put it in the soul of everyone. God gave rock 'n roll to you, gave rock 'n roll to you, save rock 'n roll for everyone . . ._"

Soon, everyone was either tapping a foot or a hand, clapping, snapping or humming. If they didn't know the words they made up their own and sang as if they were always correct. Because that's what you do when you are nine and ten and thirty five and forty two.

Life in Rita became normal again, even as the outskirts of Aberdeen arrived like the American Chernobyl.

HA


End file.
